


The Ship of Theseus (When Nicky Was First)

by Ndeplume



Series: Across the Universe(s) [2]
Category: The Old Guard (Comics), The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ancient Nicky, Angst, F/M, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Love, M/M, Nicky is the oldest, Nicky | Nicolò di Genova Needs a Hug, No Smut, Slow Build, Storytelling, Torture, Travel, not historically accurate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-18 19:14:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 24,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29738574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ndeplume/pseuds/Ndeplume
Summary: This is a story about growth and pain and healing and independence, but above all else, this is a story about love.The world was big and lonely and to say it was a place Nicky survived was too generous. He scraped by, he dragged himself through by his fingernails, inch by inch because even when he wanted to let go, even in his most desperate moments, life clung to him like a tick. Insidious, parasitic, unpredictable and cruel. But that was before Yusuf, before the sun personified stepped into Nicky’s lonesome life and reminded him that there was good. Born thousands of years before the other half of his soul, Nicolo spent the years unconsciously traveling towards Yusuf. But before he found happiness, he had to suffer hardship. That was the way of the world and the gods had plans for him.
Relationships: Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Quynh | Noriko, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Nicky | Nicolo di Genova & Original Character(s)
Series: Across the Universe(s) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2185038
Comments: 18
Kudos: 83





	1. The Caves

**Author's Note:**

> This story is about the same Nicolo in the first part of the series, it can be a standalone but it provides context for the Nicky who was the oldest of the guard.  
> 

The world was a big and lonely place and to say it was a place Nicky survived was too generous. He scraped by, he dragged himself through by his fingernails, inch by inch because even when he wanted to let go, even in his most desperate moments, life clung to him like a tick. Insidious, parasitic, unpredictable and cruel. But that was before Yusuf, before the sun personified stepped into Nicky’s lonesome life and reminded him that there was good. 

Nicolo had been born in a time before calendars to a loving mother and father to himself and the five of his siblings which survived childbirth. They and their community lived in the caves along what would eventually become the Italian coast. It was anything but easy, but it was simple. You ate what you could gather, your community was made of a few families who were brought into the Gaulois community when they’d been taken over a few generations ago. But besides the inevitable politics of living as a relatively new tribe under control of another community, life was simple. 

Nicky’s job was to collect clams from the shore with his sisters and younger brother, and when he hit his growth spurt, he learned to use weapons. His older sister and brother along with older members of their community taught him to use a spear and hunt boar with them. He wasn’t much good, his talents shone at the coast and in the home. He was very good at weaving nets, he could collect clams and shellfish like nobody else. He sang by the fire, he told stories of the Gods and wove tales about the stars that kept the younger children entertained for hours. Nicolo worked hard but his labour was recognized and important and meaningful and he was happy. As he grew older, he even began to gain the attention of a young woman who used to chase him around the fire. His mother and her father conspired to push them together, urged them to start a family. Nicky was unsure if it was the right path for him, but he knew it was about time he started thinking about family. He was almost at his twentieth summer and everybody else his age had children by now. Besides, Marielle was a beautiful woman. Strong, capable, independent, many other other young men and women in their village adored her but she was holding out and spending time with him. 

Six years later, they had two children. Nicolo had never loved like this before. Amara, his youngest at two and Martel, his oldest at four. His children were the light of his life and he found inspiration in the world which he fed into bedtime stories. He continued to tell his tales, sing songs, create epics. At night, he would sit on a log near the fire, one child on each knee, and he would tell them stories about the stars. Monsters from the forest, demons who would capture your soul if you strayed too far from home and you would end up among the stars, watching those below. Ancestors keeping watch, guiding you and showing you the way. And Nicky’s personal favourite, a story about love. Two people destined to be together but separated by a force immovable and unknowable. One of them reached out to the other without knowing it, he traveled through his life, always moving towards the other but never knowing why, never understanding that he was meant for a love that was so strong it would move the ocean. His daughter, only two years old, asked him if the story was about him and their mother. Nicolo would look over at Marielle and smile, but before he could answer, she would walk over and kiss both their children’s heads. 

“It’s about all love, no matter where, no matter to who. It’s about how we love you and how you love going to bed and sleeping until morning.” She would tease, picking up whichever child was closest. Nicky would add a log to the fire for the nighttime watch, put out some fish he’d set aside for them, and join his family in their cave. Life was good, though every time Nicky told his story about love, he felt dishonest. He loved Marielle but he believed his emotions should go deeper. He worried he should feel more for her. They were happy, but Nicky never quite felt whole. He just wouldn’t realize it for a long time. 

They were attacked a few times by a community which had moved in from the south but they were able to hold their own. Given the goods that their village sometimes found along their trade routes and the gossip from the merchants who visited, new technology was emerging in other areas of the world, far beyond the shelter of their caves. Chatter amongst the village elders started up. They needed to modernize, or they needed to double down on tradition. They needed to strengthen and grow the village, or they needed to keep their families close and maintain their tight-knit community. Nicolo’s ancestors had lived there for centuries, thousands of years, and it worked for them. The same discussions that had gone on for all of human history didn’t escape this small village. They couldn’t land on a decision, but it was okay. Their village was safe, until it wasn’t.

They came at night. Nicky was on watch and had heard them before he saw them. A horde of masked riders with sharp weapons and a metal Nicolo had never seen before. They spoke a language he couldn’t understand. He roused the village as he ran through the caves. Nicolo was not a gifted fighter so it was no surprise that his first priority was to get the boats out. Those who couldn’t fight would get on a boat, start sailing for safety with the belongings they could carry. The battle cries began as he launched the fourth boat, tossing some fishing supplies in with it as he ushered the closest people onto it. He heard Marielle’s cry as she rushed their children towards him and Nicky scooped them into his arms and put them on the boat. He moved to get in but hardly had the chance to think about it before an arrow was sticking out of his throat and he drowned on his own blood, face down in the dirt, surrounded by screams as somebody dragged him out of the way of terrified, trampling villagers. The death was quick, painful but quick. Merciful. He didn’t know if his family had been as lucky. He prayed as his dying breath erupted from his mouth in a cough. His Marielle, Martel, Amara, he prayed they got to safety. That they were spared by the marauders, that they could live longer lives than him. 

When he next opened his eyes, it was dark. The arrow was still in his throat but he wasn’t bleeding yet. He died of oxygen deprivation three times before realizing that he wasn’t dying. He moved his hands and feet, he tried desperately to reach his neck and pull the arrow out, but couldn’t. There was something blocking his way. He thrashed, trying to dislodge whatever it was. When some of it fell into his mouth, he realized his predicament. Dirt, grass, a pebble...he had been buried. Something smooth and cold and sticky was pressed tightly to his side and he immediately retched, which was rather impossible with the arrow where it was. A burial mound. A mass grave. He was in a burial mound and he was stuck and he was suffocating for the fourth time and- 

It took three days of shuffling and digging to break free. Eventually he became numb to the feeling of moving the bodies of his fallen fellow villagers and he would dig as much as he could until inevitably passing out. When he reached the edge of the mound and tasted fresh air, he cried. 

It didn’t get much easier after that. 

Nicolo trudged to the ruins of his village. Nobody was left, the survivors had erected the burial mound and moved. Nicky assumed they were in a village nearby. He knew there had been survivors. There had to have been. Marauders wouldn’t have given them a burial. But if there had been enough survivors, they wouldn’t have left. Nicolo felt a despair so profound he felt like he might collapse and die yet again just from the sheer power of the emotion. Covered in dirt and blood, Nicolo stared out at the caves along the coast with wide eyes, hands shaking, tears still streaming down his face. His chest hurt. His throat ached. His hands were raw. On autopilot, Nicky made his way down the cliffs and into the mouth of the cave he shared with his family. The ground in front was stained with blood, the cave itself was mostly cleared out. There were grooves in the ground where families long before Nicky was born had slept every night. There were paintings on the wall. There were handprints along the edge. They belonged to Nicolo’s ancestors, then to Nicky, to Marielle, to Martel and Amara, the last one before a big gap. On the ground below the handprints was a clay doll. 

A gasp of pain finally burst forth from Nicolo’s lips as he fell to his knees. He tried to tell himself that his children might be safe, that the boats were gone and some people may have made it to safety. His Marielle might be okay too, he reasoned. Maybe his mother had even survived, or his siblings. But as much as he wanted to believe it was true, Nicolo couldn’t stop feeling the cold skin of the bodies he’d moved to escape from his grave. From their grave. Why hadn’t it been his grave? Why was he here, why had the gods chosen him to survive? He looked up to the stars but the sky was clouded over. As the raindrops began to fall and the evidence of the massacre was washed into the very sea that sustained them, Nicolo sobbed. He curled into a ball on the spot his children used to sleep, one fist curled around his children’s clay doll. He wondered if he’d ever see them playing with it again. Exhausted and unable to process any more agony, he fell asleep.


	2. The Village

Nicolo had to walk since there were no more boats. It took much longer to walk to the nearest village than it did to row. Since there were no more resources in the village, Nicky had to make his way there with nothing but the clothes on his back and the knife he’d found near the fire. He had only been to the other village twice and never alone. He had slept for nearly twelve hours but still felt exhausted as he started his trek. His throat had no scar and when he’d cut his foot on the knife after stumbling over it earlier, it healed before his eyes. Something was wrong. Nicolo had considered a few options, though he couldn’t properly think them through. There was a lot on his mind. 

Maybe he was dead, he considered as he began to trudge down the forest path towards a road the Gaulois had built a few years ago. Maybe this was the afterlife and spirits were more real than he’d thought, and cruelly, he couldn’t see any others besides him. He couldn’t test that theory though because there was nobody else around. His second theory was that he was a God, which made him cringe just to think about. The thought that he was a divine being was so unnatural and uncharacteristic that he dismissed that theory as soon as it came to mind. His third theory was that he had eaten a bad fish and was currently having a fever dream, lying in his cave and sweating out a bad illness. This felt too vivid for that, but who was Nicky to judge whether his hallucinations were too realistic? 

The first person he met on the road was a merchant. She was alive and could see and hear Nicky, so it seemed Nicky’s first theory was wrong. She had been kind enough to give him some directions and some bread in exchange for him cleaning her horse’s hooves. She hadn’t seen anyone from his village though, which Nicky didn’t like. But hope wasn’t lost. After all, she wasn’t coming from that village so maybe it made sense that she hadn’t crossed their path. Besides, Nicky had no idea how long he’d been dead for or how long it had taken him to get out of the burial mound. He hadn’t looked at the bodies of the villagers in the mound out of fear and respect. It hurt him to have disturbed their resting place with his desperate attempt to get out and he hadn’t wanted to hurt their chances at getting to the afterlife any more than he already had, especially if his family was part of the mound. (The thought made him vomit twice - so much for the bread). 

Two days later, Nicky stumbled into the village. He’d barely eaten, he hadn’t slept and had been chased through the woods on three occasions on his way here, but he’d made it. He could have wept with relief had he not been so bone-weary. He staggered into the village and looked around at the wooden houses and walls enclosing the perimeter. It was impressive and very well guarded. So well guarded that he hadn’t made it within ten feet of the entrance before somebody shouted at him to state his purpose. Nicky looked up and fell to his knees, too tired to keep standing. 

“I’m from the village of Gena. I survived and I am here looking for my family. Please, I just need to know if they’re here. I mean no harm.” Nicky shouted back. He’d completely neglected his own needs. He hadn’t drank anything or eaten a scrap besides the bread. Perhaps it was his weakened state that made the guards pity him, or perhaps they just thought he couldn’t possibly be a threat. Either way, one of them approached him and helped him to his feet, taking him inside. 

The village was bustling. There was a central well and more people than Nicolo had ever seen in one place. The guard led him through the crowd and towards a wooden building with big doors. Nicky was in awe of this place. He would have appreciated it more had he not barely survived the trek here. He blinked once and when he opened his eyes, was being laid down on a hard surface. He groaned and looked around. An elderly woman was approaching the table. 

“Look at the state of you. How you managed to make it from that poor village is beyond me.” She tutted. Nicky struggled to sit up as she handed him a wooden cup. He drank the water as she tapped and poked and prodded him, clearly assessing him for injury. She was kindly looking. Short but firm, Nicky didn’t want to move in case she got upset with him. Her hair was braided in a beautiful and intricate pattern that Amara would have adored. There were beads in it too, just like the ones Marielle had in her hair. Nicky got misty as the woman continued her inspection.

“MIraculously lucky, you are.” She murmured, finding no injuries and tearing him out of his thoughts. Nicky couldn’t do anything but continue to drink the water. “Eat something and rest, then you can do whatever you came here for.” She decided. The guard who had brought Nicky over returned with a wooden bowl full of stew. Finally, Nicolo found the strength to speak up. 

“I’m looking for my family.” He blurted, setting his empty cup down. “Marielle and my children, Amara and Martel. They are very small, they...I think they came by boat, but I don’t..I’m not sure…” He trailed off as the elderly woman gently tapped his hand and shook her head. 

“I haven’t seen the refugees myself, dear. They’re on the other side of the village, we’ve let them set up camp over there, we’re all Gaulois after all, we take care of our own.” She promised proudly. You’ll see tents. You can go once you’re feeling well.” She promised in a tone that dared him to disobey. Nicolo simply nodded and gratefully took the bowl of stew. He’d never really thought of himself as Gaulois. His village had been swept up by them when they’d come into the region but they’d maintained their traditions and mostly kept to themselves just as they had before. But times like this made him realize how unity could prove helpful. 

Once his stew was gone, Nicky felt a little stronger. He thanked the woman and stood up on aching legs, making his way to the door with tense steps. Looking around, Nicolo was already lost. If not for the kind woman’s shout of “left, dear”, he wouldn’t have made it two more steps. Hesitantly, Nicky began to walk to the left. He passed a cart of fresh fruit and a group of kids playing a game near the fountain. Nobody acknowledged him beyond a glance, which was unsettling. It made Nicolo feel like a true spirit, wandering unnoticed through crowds of people. He didn’t like it. 

Soon, he saw tents and his worries were out of his mind. He recognized a man fixing one of the tent poles. Nicky grinned and walked faster, breaking into a run despite his legs protests. Before he could shout his name, the man turned and saw Nicky. He broke into a grin and shouted, “Nicolo!” 

A crowd quickly gathered. Meagre as it was, Nicky could take stock of his village. Most of those who couldn’t fight had survived. People on the boat with his children were there, and his hope grew as he scanned the familiar faces until...He landed on Marielle’s. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes as he saw her, but it was only when he saw both his children in her arms that he truly felt like his journey was over. 

What Nicolo hadn’t expected was to be met with horrified looks. Marielle held their children tighter and Amara looked terrified. Martel was biting his lip and half hiding his face against his mother’s thigh. Nicky took a step forward but Marielle’s voice stopped him. 

“No. You’re not our Nicolo.” She snapped, a fury suddenly springing from her chest. She took a step forward in front of Amara, her hand leaving her daughter’s side to grab the large knife she had at her hip. “Go back to the forest and leave us, demon. Monster. Our Nicolo is dead. After I fought, I carried him to be buried myself, I saw his eyes, heard no heartbeat. And now you want his children but you can’t have them.” She growled. Nicky’s desperation at being met with horror and fury instead of love and relief was palpable.

“Marielle, no, please I…” Nicky didn’t have the chance to explain himself any further than that. Two of the remaining warriors from his village grabbed him, their initial thrill to see him evaporated once they realized what he was. Nicky shouted her name, shouted the names of his children and fought with every ounce of strength he had to get to them, to see them again, to hold them and kiss their heads and tell them it would be okay. But even at his strongest, Nicky was no match for the warriors. They dragged him kicking and screaming through the small town. His screeches and pleas didn’t help his case at all, they sounded inhuman. Nicky was tossed out of the town and into the forest. The large doors to the town slammed and almost immediately, Nicky heard the prayers to rid the town of evil, to cleanse it after a demon such as him had breached its borders.


	3. The River

In the week that followed his exile, Nicolo tried everything to get back to his family. He wouldn’t just give up. The irony that his family thought he was one of the creatures from his stories was lost on him as he tried to sneak into town any way he could. He tried to get the attention of some locals, but word had spread fast that there was a demon trying to enter the village. Nicky had no luck. The gods were cruel, that much he knew. He didn’t realize just how cruel though until days later. He was hovered at the edge of a river, trying to catch a fish with a net he’d woven from reeds. He wasn’t having much luck, the reeds were flimsy and fell apart. 

Frustration overwhelmed him like a second wind and he cried out in anger, kicking the water for its transgressions against him, as if it was the river’s fault he was stuck in hell, starving and terrified and alone and unable to go home. The river seemed to take it personally. In his anger, Nicky didn’t hear the telltale sound of a flash flood. They happened often enough in this part of the woods but he wasn’t prepared. They water caught him off guard and Nicky was swept downstream, his body tossed around the river like a leaf. 

He learned the full extent of his healing abilities in a painful way that day. He drowned more times than he could count. Unable to reach the side of the large river and already exhausted from a lack of food and sleep, he was no match for the current’s strength. He was hit in the head by a log and his world went black. He woke up swallowing water and being tossed around a rapids, bashed against the rocks. He tried to cling to a nearby solid object but all that did was smash his arm against it, immediately breaking them. He cried out but his lungs filled with water and he went dark. He woke again to the freezing cold water, but this time it wasn’t as chaotic. The rush of a waterfall was behind him and Nicolo could feel his hands knitting themselves back together, his neck popping back into place. He tried to breathe but water poured into his mouth instead. He tried to swim but he lacked the strength. Even his regenerative abilities couldn’t keep him from going into shock. 

Nicolo washed up on a gentle sandy shore. The water lapped at his feet. The sun warmed his body and the sand beneath his cheek provided a surprisingly comfortable place to wake. Of course, Nicky couldn’t be aware of the comfort. It was all he could do to expel the river water from his body. Forcing himself onto all fours as the water came up and out, he shuddered until finally he breathed a breath of fresh air. Nicolo collapsed onto his side, his whole body shaking as he gasped for breath. 

He lay there as the sun went cold and darkness took over. He didn’t move a muscle, but eventually passed into sleep. When the sun rose and he felt the morning light on his face, he blinked awake. The gods were endlessly cruel, was his first thought. They took him from his family and when he refused, when he tried to go back, they forced him far away. Nicky had no idea where he was. He had no idea how long he’d been in the river, but given that he’d started fishing at nighttime and woken in the sunlight, he knew he must have been a long way from home. 

The gods had a sense of humour too. A fish jumped in the river behind him. Taunting him. He groaned and pressed his face into the sand. A bird swooped down and caught the fish in its claws, cawing before dropping it on top of Nicky. The tail smacked his neck painfully before it flopped onto the beach, writhing without water and going still soon after. Nicky stared at it. His grey eyes met the fish’s now unseeing eyes. He blinked. The fish did not. 

Nicky’s stomach rumbled loudly and the pain that followed made him acutely aware that it had been days since his last meal. His ribs were showing through, surely. Unable to resist, Nicolo reached out and grabbed it. He ate that morning. He then lay down on the small beach and slept the day away, then the night. If the river washed him away again, so be it. 

It didn’t. Unfortunately for Nicolo, it seemed he had to start making his own decisions. No more fish fell from the sky, no more free meals. Nicolo had to force himself to stand up. He looked around, then down at himself. His clothing was torn and tattered. His blood stained the neckline, but his necklace was still intact. His Marielle carved him a few runes of protection when they’d been married. She’d added to it when their children were born. There were shells and beads on it too, it was a valuable and sentimental item. Nicolo felt like it was the gods laughing at him. Dangling his family within reach and keeping him back. He had the urge to toss the necklace into the water, but he refrained.

Nicolo needed new clothes. His shoes had come off in the river, his pants were torn and he smelled like blood and sweat and river water. He reached into the pocket sewn into the underside of his shirt. Miraculously, the doll was still there. Wet, but otherwise unharmed. He had no doubt that it had a part to play in breaking his body as he was tossed against the rocks, but he held no ill will against the object. It was all he had of his children and he would keep it safe. 

Nicolo began to walk up the river towards home, it was the only thing he could think to do. Nicolo walked for a day before he reached the waterfall. WIth some elation, he realized he was on the right path. After stopping to rest and catch some fish, he climbed to the top. Though starvation hadn’t stopped him yet, he knew he still needed the energy. In all ways but one, it seemed he was still human, still bound by mortal constraints such as the need to sleep, to eat. In the morning, he continued up the river. He climbed beside the waterfall and followed up past the rapids. When the sun was high in the sky, Nicolo reached a fork in the river. 

It was hard to accept that there was no way home, but it seemed he’d considered the possibility somewhere along the road. He didn’t cry as he stood at the fork of the river and was forced to accept his fate. The gods wanted him to be alone, so he was alone.


	4. Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cried a little bit writing this one but don't worry it gets better!

Nicolo learned in time that he didn’t age. He never made his way back to his village and eventually, he stopped trying. He relied on the help of strangers for the first few years. In exchange for work he could secure clothing, a bag, a weapon. In exchange for a good story, he could get a hot meal. As much as it pained him to tell stories to people who weren’t his family, they set his mind at ease. 

The years passed and Nicolo changed. He grew stronger as he traveled, never staying in one place for long in case the people discovered who he was. By necessity, he grew more proficient at hunting and fighting. He carried a club and a bow, but soon upgraded for a proper sword. He worked six months to get it and had no idea how to use it, but he managed. He soon became more than a fighter. As the loneliness sank its roots into Nicky’s soul, he hardened. He saw people around him as if they were no more than animals, means to an end. He formed no bonds. Once the grief of losing his wife faded, he began having relations with people again. Nameless people he never remembered after leaving town, men and women. He learned why his heart never felt full when he was with his wife. Though he enjoyed being with women, men were much more fulfilling. 

Nicky stopped keeping count of the years after he returned to a village he’d once visited and met a man he’d once shared a bed with for a few nights. The man, then a young fighter, was now a father of two. He had aged twenty or so years, he was grey and wrinkling, but his eyes were the same. Nicolo shared a story with him in exchange for a warm meal and the man told him of a young traveler he’d once known who looked a lot like Nicky. With a faint smile, Nicolo thanked the man and left, but not before he dropped off a few rabbits, skinned and boned and ready to cook, at the old man’s door. 

The gods still spoke with Nicolo in their own way. When he’d be wondering where to go, sometimes a path would open up for him. Once, in a bout of anger, he’d thrown away his necklace, tossed it into a river. He’d regretted it almost instantly and ran in to find it, only to see it looped around a waterlogged branch stuck into the mud, completely unharmed. The string eventually broke and Nicky kept the pieces in a pocket with the doll until he could find a better string and he spent hours meticulously remaking it. He had plenty of time to spare, after all. 

He stopped thinking about what he might have been after a while. Best to simply accept that he couldn’t die, that injuries didn’t last, and try not to get stuck anywhere. Nicky learned to enjoy the freedom his new state brought him. He wasn’t beholden to anyone. His motivation was his own and if he didn’t want to be somewhere, he simply left.

Eventually, he began to travel. He picked a direction and walked until he found a horse. Nicky took her through the forest, passing lakes and seeing the mountains for the first time. Huge, so big they seemed impossible to fathom. Their peaks, jagged and covered in snow, pierced the sky. Nicky climbed one and sat on the very top, overlooking the rest of the world laid out below him and contemplating where he was, where he could go. 

He left the territory of the Gaulois and ended up in a colder climate. Not as cold as the top of the mountains, but cold. Much too cold at night to simply lie down and go to sleep. He practiced his fire-building skills and learned to skin an animal for its fur. He encountered huge beasts he’d never seen before, ones which tore at him with their fangs and claws and swiped at him with massive paws. He found a dog along the road and made quick friends. The dog provided an extra pair of eyes to watch as he slept. When he killed an animal there was often too much meat for him alone anyways, so the dog ate well and had sticks and bones to chew on. Nicky called him dog and the horse ‘horse’. As the years passed, they moved to the next life and Nicolo buried them in their own mounds and performed the rites as if they were people, perhaps to spite the gods, perhaps to show his devotion to two creatures which had provided him more comfort and family than he’d received in sixty years. He was jealous. 

His thoughts returned often to his children. He wondered what became of them, whether they survived to adulthood, whether they had children and a family of their own. He never summoned the courage to go back and find his village or the one which sheltered the remains of his community. Nicolo told himself that he did so out of respect for them. They never wished to see him again and the least he could do was stay away. Truthfully, Nicky knew part of it was cowardice. He didn’t have the courage to face his children. He knew his wife was long dead by now, his children were likely eldery or passed. People didn’t live long. 

The gods reached out again the year his dog died. Nicky found a village on a trade route. He was tired of traveling so he stopped and decided to stay awhile. The owner of the inn let him stay in a room in exchange for work in the stables. Nicky liked it. He didn’t speak the local language well so he stayed quiet. He worked during the day and took good care of the horses. He volunteered to help the innkeeper at night. He cut an imposing figure, dark and brooding, always wearing a cloak and a sword even at night. He earned a reputation around the inn for being reliable. Hardworking. Kind, but not friendly. When customers got too rowdy, Nicky simply had to stand near them and ask them to be quiet and most of the time, they settled down. Other times, he threw even the strongest of men out with ease. 

He stayed three years. The innkeeper began paying him a small wage and gave him a room to keep as his own. It was tiny but it was more than enough. He kept the wooden doll on a shelf near his candle and prayed to his gods with little sacrifices when he had the means. As much as they’d wronged him, they had given him a gift too. Besides, Nicolo knew better than to assume his comfort was what the gods thought about. Nicky was a pawn and that was all. They toyed with him and tormented him and helped him according to their own plans and Nicky had to accept it and thank them, so that was what he did. 

And the gods took notice. On Nicolo’s third year at the inn, a caravan from the south passed through. They were Gaulois. Nicky recognized his mother tongue immediately as the strangers approached his stable. His home dialect stuck out to his ears as the leader of the ragtag group spoke with the innkeeper. The group had been through a lot. They were fleeing wildfires and searching for a new place to settle. They had been on a long trek and needed a place for a few nights to rest their weary legs. Nicolo offered to take their horses in an uncharacteristically enthusiastic manner. 

He spoke with a man he didn’t recognize but who sounded a lot like the village leader. Nicolo asked if he’d ever known a Marielle. The young man shook his head. Discouraged but not swayed from his curiosity, Nicolo asked if he had ever known an Amara or a Martel. The young man thought about the names for a moment before shaking his head. He didn’t recognize them, but they did sound rather familiar. They weren’t uncommon names, though. 

Dejected, Nicolo simply nodded and took the horses to the stable. He wanted to move on, but accepting that this group wasn’t from his home was harder than he’d thought. That evening, Nicolo took the night off and left the inn. He needed time to himself. He brought his children’s doll with him and sat by the river nearby, remembering that day so long ago. He had lived lifetimes since then but had never yet reached a point where he knew his children were gone. It had been fifty five years, five or take a few. He’d stopped counting at one point but he knew it couldn’t have been much longer. His children would be old, far older than most lived to see, but they could still have been alive. But if the people with accents from his village never heard of their names, then they had likely died long ago. 

Nicolo looked up to the moon in the sky and thought about the stories he used to tell. Tales to keep the children appropriately afraid of wandering too far from home. Tales of demons inhabiting the bodies of lost children and sending their soul to live forever in the stars. Tales of a person wandering the skies forever, always searching for a love they knew they needed but couldn’t understand. Tears fell down his cheeks as he silently mourned everything he’d lost. His sorrow was borne of loss but also hope. Hope that his family lived without him, that they had a good life and could pass on to join the ancestors and spirits in the sky. They could join their mother, the lost members of their village and those they’d never met but who watched over them every day anyways. Hope that they were watching him now, that they understood that he did everything he could for them. That they were always, and would always be loved even though he now seemed to be one of those demons in the forest. He hoped that one day he’d join them, that one day his soul would find its place at their side in the sky, watching over the world. 

The gods gave Nicolo one more gift. 

“I was told you asked about me earlier.” Came a voice from behind. Nicky had been so wrapped up in his grief that he hadn’t heard the figure approach. The man whipped around to see an old man standing a few feet away. He held a walking stick and stood tall and firm, an imposing figure until Nicolo saw the kindness in the man’s eyes. His own reflected back at him. Despite the decades apart, Nicolo would recognize his own son anywhere.


	5. Martel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short one, the next chapter will be longer.

Martel looked like Marielle’s father, if a bit taller, a bit leaner. His eyes were Nicky’s, his hair Marielle’s dark curls, though there was a significant amount of grey in the dark brown mop on his head. He held himself with the ease and confidence which befitted a leader, and from the intricate design on the walking stick, Nicky could tell his son had stepped into that role. He was a religious leader, a speaker for the gods. He didn’t have the same robes and necklaces on that Nicolo remembered the holy people having in the caves, but it struck him that traditions could have changed. 

He realized he was simply staring at his son, tears drying on his cheeks, mouth agape in shock. He shut it with a gulp and opened it again, trying to think of something to say. His thoughts were for naught, though, since he simply stammered, “Martel? It’s really you?” Followed by an awkward and emotionally heavy, “You’ve grown up.” 

The priest laughed, nodding. 

“And you’ve not aged a day since I last saw you, father. May I sit? My bones these days aren’t quite what they used to be. Not that you’d know anything about that, apparently.” He teased, a mischievous glimmer in his eyes. Nicky mutely nodded, his throat closing and eyes welling with tears as he remembered the little boy who had once promised with the same troublemaking look that no, of course he hadn’t taken the berries Nicolo was saving for the night watch, he had been good! The berry stains on his fingers were from other berries, of course. A bird must have eaten the berries from the bowl. 

Martel clasped Nicolo’s shoulder, seeming to wordlessly understand the weight of this moment. When his father reached out and pulled him into his arms, sobbing, Martel held him back. He shed tears of his own, this time of joy. Eventually, once they’d cried themselves out, Martel invited Nicolo to his room to share a meal, escape the cold of the northern night, and let his aching joints rest. Nicky readily agreed. 

He held his son’s arm as they walked back up the path to the inn. Nicolo carried two meals up the stairs to the small room his son was renting and he helped Martel onto the bed. At that point, Nicolo realizes that the walking stick was less for old age and more for an injury, his leg was bandaged. 

Noticing his father’s concern, Martel sighed and took a sip of beer. “I was burned in the fires and my leg broke when I fell. A log fell on it. But it’s healing well.” He explained. He took a bowl of stew and began to eat, signaling to his father to do the same. Nicolo acquiesced, though he still worried over the leg. 

“I know you must have questions but perhaps if you hear my story, most of them will be answered. And in turn, you can tell me yours.” Martel suggested, then with a smirk, “we both have time, one of us more than the other.” 

Nicolo simply nodded, a faint smile permanently stuck to his face. How could he feel anything less than joy when his son was here in front of him? As Martel began his story, pausing every now and then to eat or drink or look out the window, Nicolo remained silent.


	6. Martel's Story

One of Martel’s first memories was being woken from his bed and dragged out to the coast with his sister. It was fuzzy, he had only been four at the time, but the trauma of that day ensured that the moment was forever lodged in his mind. Martel, clinging to his little sister and trying desperately to understand what was going on, remembered the moment like an out of body experience. He was lifted onto a boat by his father, he held tightly to Amara’s shoulders as they both cried. People screamed, arrows flew past them. His father was saying something comforting and then he wasn’t. Martel locked eyes with him as an arrow burst its way through his father’s neck, stopping short of himself and his sister by mere inches. Another on their boat hadn’t been so lucky and fell into the water, blood rising to the surface. Nicky’s hands, still holding Martel’s shoulder, spawned and loosened as he toppled over, eyes unseeing as he choked on the blood pouring from his mouth. 

Somebody moved the body and took over. Three more children and an elder were helped onto the boat before the person jumped aboard and pushed them out to sea. Martel sat still and quiet. Amara, only two years old, sobbed and screamed for her mother but he couldn’t do anything as the shock took root. He watched the shore get farther and the sounds of war from their caves faded, replaced by sorrow and fear from the boats. 

The person who had moved his father’s body out of the way came to sit next to Martel. She had long braids and kind eyes. As a child he knew her as a priest of the village, she would grow to be a mentor and parental figure to him. In that moment on the boat, all that mattered was that they were survivors. She gently picked up the little boy and cradled him on one knee, his sister on the other, letting them cry into her robes as they sailed away from the carnage. Quietly, she used the sea water to wipe away the flecks of Nicolo’s blood that splattered over Martel and Amara’s front.

They landed hours later near a rocky beach. Apparently a scout had managed to run forward to the village they hoped to seek shelter in, so they were greeted by a small welcoming party, anxious for news from the caves. The caves were an old community, though not particularly large. They never expanded beyond the original cliff formations so when children of original inhabitants grew up, unless they chose to live with their family, they often moved away to the nearby village set up on these shores. As a result, the village housing the refugees was largely made up of people whose ancestors came from the caves. They were allies, trading partners, and family. They had sent some warriors to help but nobody was optimistic. A barbaric force had swept its way through the area and slaughtered many small villages like it. Those in the boats were lucky they hadn’t decided to use them as target practice. 

Martel learned this all later, after he was older. That day, all he knew was that the village with big wooden huts was safe and full of strangers and nobody looked like his parents. The priest carried him and his sister off the boat. She took them to a nearby hut and got them food. The rest of the day passed in a blur for Martel. 

It wasn’t until the following morning that they heard a shout from the ocean. The survivors from the massacre were returning home, they had buried the dead the night before and spent the evening gathering everything from the caves they could carry. They got on one of the remaining boats and sailed. Martel’s mother was among the living. She had helped fight and though they’d lost the battle, the invaders hadn’t bothered continuing to attack the remaining warriors after it became clear that each felled person would take down three or more riders. They continued their ride and left the decimated community to tend to their dead and spread news of the fearsome newcomers. 

Marielle, desperate for news of her children, rushed into the camp first. She found the young ones easily, a mother’s intuition led her straight home to them, she’d explained later that day around the fire. Despite the grievous losses their little village had suffered, they celebrated that night. They mourned their dead by sharing their stories and celebrating their lives. The following day, the priest who helped Amara and Martel would return to the caves to perform the proper burial ceremony. 

Nicolo’s arrival at camp a few days later was Martel’s next clearest memory. He remembered sitting near the fire playing with shells when a murmur started nearby. Marielle, sitting close to him and his sister, stood and held onto both children, a reflex from the traumatic events of the past week. When Martel saw his father again, he didn’t know what to feel. Immediately his mind conjured the stories he was told so often of people possessed by demons or spirits, evils that lurked in the woods trying to infiltrate their communities. Apparently Marielle had the same thought. Terrified, she lashed out, and Martel watched as his father was dragged away, screaming and shrieking and crying out his name, his sister’s name. 

————————  
Back in the inn, the old man paused his story. He reached out and took Nicolo’s hand in his own. 

“I do not think you were ever a demon. Not anymore.” He promised. Nicky, who had been quietly crying as the story was told, felt a weight lift from his shoulders. He hadn’t realized the guilt he’d been carrying around until, in two simple sentences, his son made it vanish. He inhaled and released a shuddering breath, squeezing his son’s hand. 

“Thank you. You don’t know what that means to me.” He replied hoarsely. Martel simply nodded, smiling fondly. He took another sip of his beer before continuing the tale. 

—————————

When the next clam harvesting season approached, a large group of the original villagers chose to return to the caves. Marielle strongly considered staying behind, but eventually chose to return home. Martel and Amara grew up in the same cave they’d been born in. As he approached adulthood, the young man spent more and more of his time with the priest. She was looking for an apprentice and was getting old so she began to teach him more about their spirituality, their religion. The gods fascinated the young man and he became quite the proficient storyteller, just like his father. Marielle got misty when she heard him tell a story to the whole community for the first time. 

His mother never remarried or had other children. She flirted with the odd warrior but her heart never loved the same way again after Nicolo. Nobody pitied her for it though, least of all herself. Marielle continued to be the strong, reliable, steadfast woman she always was. She became a village elder and unofficial leader, always a calm and intelligent presence to aid in conflict resolution or help guide those who needed guidance. She defended her home along with the other warriors when it was needed, she taught the new generation how to fight. She didn’t stand for bullying and with her help, their village and their allies along the coast formed a small alliance. They prospered. 

Marielle died peacefully and surrounded by her two children, eight grandchildren, and two great grandchildren. She passed her legacy on to Amara, who was more than willing to take over her mother’s role as leader. She began negotiations with communities that were farther away, the Gaulois that still controlled the region came to see her as a diplomat. The alliance with the nearby village on the coast grew stronger yet and they expanded to include a few other nearby settlements that shared similar spiritual beliefs. 

When the priest passed on, Martel inherited her robes and her regalia. His first task was to carve his own staff, the same walking stick he used today was the remnant of that item. It had broken years ago and he had carved a new one, but kept this one for sentimental reasons. 

Martel was respected in the community. He and his sister often butted heads, their priorities didn’t often align, but they continued to work well together. Martel had three children. Amara had six, four of whom survived to adulthood. And as the years passed, their community had to adapt to new changes. The nearby road became a highway for travelers through the region. Since it was used so often as a trading route, it was relatively secure. That brought visitors to their little cove and as a result, they learned of faraway lands and new technologies, foreign religions and exotic foods, scientific discoveries and recent news. 

With the new information and a secure road nearby, members of their community branches out. They had scouts traveling and reporting back. They began to keep maps of the area, carved into the rock face at the top of the caves. They began to adapt to the new way of life, even keeping horses as a means of travel instead of relying on boats. 

A year ago, a fire started to the east. It traveled through the forest and destroyed much of the village made of wood. Many lives were lost as they fled the fires, but the tragedy wasn’t as great as it could have been. Thanks to the boats, many of the cave dwellers made it to safety and were able to regroup. Amara lost a son to the flames and other villagers lost other family members, and a small percentage wished to stay. To rebuild, to keep their community strong.

Others were spooked by the flames. They didn’t feel the same ties to the caves as others, and they wanted to go to the lands they’d been hearing about, to see a new area and settle somewhere more prosperous. After all, their little community had grown rapidly when they became more prosperous. They were outgrowing the caves and their food supply was already precarious. The village on the coast with the wooden huts had burned down and though many had survived thanks to the boats from a sea trading route, many had perished and their food supply was gone. 

The communities split into three groups. Amara remained at the caves. Martel took a small group with him to travel North, beyond the mountains, to begin a new home. Others chose to rebuild the coastal village. Martel and Amara parted ways for the first time, but hopefully not the last. Once settled in a new location, the hope was to open up a trading route. It would be a long one, but hopefully access to new resources would allow them a better hand in local markets. Rare and exotic resources often fetched a better price, after all. 

Never had Martel expected to find his father at an inn nestled into a mountain pass. But here they were. Sharing a drink and a hot meal. Swapping stories. Nicky couldn’t have been happier. 

At his son’s request, he began to recount his story.

When Nicolo caught his son up to the present day, the men shared a long moment of silence. There were many questions left unanswered but none so pressing to warrant breaking the silence of a shared respect and quiet relief that they were together. 

Martel was tired, so Nicky allowed him some rest and left his room. It pained him to walk away but he knew in the morning, they’d continue their discussion.


	7. The Good Days

“There’s no fixing that chair. Everyone who’s ever sat in it has tried.” Nicky laughed as he approached his son, who was sitting at a table in the inn and trying to stop his chair from wobbling. He set down the pot of tea and mugs he’d brought as Martel jovially tossed his hands up in defeat. The day was new and most people were still asleep, but the horses needed feeding so Nicky was up early. He’d spotted Martel washing in the river so they’d made plans to break fast together. Nicky prepared the meal since the chef was sleeping and not due in the kitchen for another hour. He set down a hearty breakfast of bread, eggs, and pork. 

“I have a proposition for you, Da.” Martel said. The casualness with which his son called him ‘Da’ caught Nicky off guard. Surprised but (not so) secretly delighted, he nodded, eager to hear what his son had to say. “I’d like for you to come with us while we settle down, but this is a conditional offer so before you speak, listen to everything I have to say.” His son spoke with the confidence of a man used to giving good advice. Nicky had already been about to accept the offer when he was told not to speak yet, so he simply sat back in his chair and began to eat, eyes sparkling with a newfound light as he listened. 

“I’d like for you to stay while we find a new home and while we get settled. Some of us are carpenters, some are masons, but it will be hard to start anew. We’ll need all the bodies we can get to help. But obviously this arrangement is not as straightforward as that. Nobody can know who you are or where you’re from or what you are, whatever that is. They’ll make the same mistake Mama did if they do and I won’t be able to use my position to protect you, not without losing their faith and causing a rift in our spiritual balance. So if you travel with us, you’ll need to go by a new name, one which I can call you. And you have to promise me, father, that you will leave in three years no matter what. Nobody can know what you are and after three years, they’ll notice if you stop aging. And if you get hurt, you must leave immediately if you suspect somebody sees you healing so fast.” Martel’s words sliced Nicky to his core but the strength and stability with which his son delivered them was inspiring. He had clearly thought this through. Nicolo was so proud of him. The choice was obvious and easy, even if it came with a hard truth. Nicky knew that the next three years was borrowed time, that he was immensely lucky to be able to share this small moment in time with his son. He had no right to wish for anything more.

“Of course I’ll join you.” He replied. Martel smiled at that and tapped his mug to Nicolo’s in quiet approval. He took a long sip and the pair continued their meal together, conversing about nothing important, relishing in their newfound time together. 

As they were finishing, the chef came into the kitchen. Soon after, travelers woke and began to trickle in for their morning meal. A loud, happy voice came from the entrance to the dining area and Martel’s face lit up as he turned to the shrill sound. A little girl came running towards him, shouting “Baba!” She was no more than three years old. Her curls bounced every which way and her chubby little fists were clutched at her side as she ran towards their table. She was the spitting image of Amara, so identical that Nicolo’s chest tightened and his breath caught in his throat. 

Martel reached down and scooped her up, laughing as he tossed her into the air and caught her. The beautiful little girl squealed with delight and kicked her feet, nearly knocking a mug of tea off the table. Nicky couldn’t help but laugh. The pain he had expected to feel was missing. Instead, he felt only joy. His great granddaughter clung to his son and looked over at Nicky curiously. 

A very pregnant young woman in her twenties approached their table, sighing as she reached a hand out to fix the child’s hair. She bent down and kissed Martel’s cheek, then smiled at Nicky. Marielle’s smile on her face was unmistakable but her features were different. Martel smiled back at her and turned to Nicky. 

“My dear, this is an old friend of mine. He’s agreed to join us for the foreseeable future.” Martel explained. He nodded to Nicky as if to say, ‘here’s where you introduce yourself.’ Picking up the subtle hint, Nicky nodded politely to her. 

“Good morning. My name is Aster.” He used the name of a man he’d once met in a fight years back. “I am looking forward to joining you.” He added, hoping he sounded convincing. The young woman smiled as Martel continued. 

“Aster, this is my daughter, Jana, and my granddaughter, Cara.” He said. Nicky had put that together and was doing his very best to keep his emotions buried. Seeing how his family tree had branched out was an extremely overwhelming thing, but it was a beautiful thing. Nicky silently thanked the gods for allowing him this moment, for giving him the chance to stay with them and guard them. 

\---------------------------

Nicolo, now introduced as Aster to the small village that made up the caravan, quickly found a place within the community. He was a proficient hunter and helped bring back dinner during his first night on the road with them. He helped care for the horses and spent his evenings playing games with his great grandchildren or talking with his son or simply sitting guard near a fire, watching the dark of night and relishing in the peacefulness. As a group, they were too large for even the bravest of bandits so they were relatively safe. 

A week into their voyage, the caravan came across a bend in the river. It had fertile soil and they were near an area where a herd of deer had been spotted, indicating this would be a prosperous area. Martel and two other elders met and decided to stay here a month to make sure it was a suitable area. They settled down and started growing roots. They planted a few crops and put up their tents, started building temporary shelter. 

As the months passed, they didn’t move. The weather grew colder and they found local crops to grow, they built warmer shelters, they fortified their surroundings. They stayed and built a new home. Nicolo, Aster, taught the young ones who wanted to fight how to use weapons, how to track enemies and spot hiding places and weak points. 

Months turned into years. A full year came and went. Nicolo was happy. He knew his time was limited and for a brief moment, he got to remember what it was like to be human. Life was short and he had limited time with his loved ones. He watched his son’s hair grey. He watched his great granddaughter sprout before his eyes. His granddaughter gave birth to twin boys and they were now crawling. She was pregnant again now and her husband was always at her side, chasing down the twins or rubbing her sore feet or keeping her warm, it was lovely to see. Nicky knew his family would be happy here. 

Time, grateful as Nicky was to have it, ran quickly. Against the odds he’d managed to keep his gift hidden. The few small injuries he’d gotten were easily hidden by a bandage and never large enough to scar. In his final months with his son, Nicolo made a point to live in the moment, to savour every second. He was painfully aware that he was incredibly lucky to have the opportunity to know the end of his time here was near. That didn’t make it any easier when the day inevitably came.


	8. Stepping Forward

Nicky sat at the river as the sun rose. In his hand was the children’s doll, he rubbed his fingers over it and looked down at the water that lapped at his feet. He heard footsteps approaching behind him. Martel still used his walking stick but his injury had healed and he didn’t lean on it as heavily. Nicky smiled as Martel took a seat next to him. 

“This was yours, you know. I found it on the floor of our cave. You and Amara used to play battle gods, you called it.” He chuckled at the memory, holding the doll in his open palm. “You used to stick twigs to them with mud and you’d hit them against each other to see whose twig fell off first.” He smirked, then held it out to Martel. “I’d like for you to keep it. If I’m leaving today then I don’t want to bring things that keep me tethered here. The necklace is different, it’s sentimental, but this...it’s not mine.” He explained. 

Martel was quiet for a moment. He reached out and closed Nicky’s hand over the toy. 

“Not yet. Today we’re preparing a feast to wish you well on your trip. We can exchange gifts then.” He replied. Nicky raised an eyebrow. 

“A feast? You don’t need to have a feast, Martel. You don’t need to waste on my account.” Nicolo protested, but his son was having none of it. 

“It’s not just for you. We have some scouts leaving tomorrow morning and we want to send them off. Plus, the season is nearly over and we’ll need to get rid of some of the food we can’t save, so it’s a good excuse all around.” Martel promised. “Da, I wanted to talk to you in private because I’m afraid we won’t get a moment alone together before you go.” He began. “I never thought I’d see you again, I know how lucky we are. And these past few years have been good. I don’t know why the gods brought me to you but I have a sense that it was for your benefit more than mine. So I hope that this has been as fulfilling for you as it was for me. And…I can’t pretend to understand what gift the gods gave you. I don’t know when it will expire or what else it might bring you, but I know that they have a plan. You have to trust them, and you have to trust yourself to interpret their messages.” Martel said solemnly, his hands clasped over Nicky’s. 

“You cannot come back here and you cannot go to Amara, she won’t understand the same way I do and she won’t remember you, she has no memories of the attack. So keep moving. Travel somewhere beyond our world and discover what’s out there, do something we could never do. And one day, down the road, I’ll see you again. When I go, I’ll stay in the stars and watch over you. Nothing is forever, even your gift, and one day, maybe many years from now, we’ll sit and drink tea together again. But until that time, don’t let your grief hold you back from following your path.” 

Nicolo’s son’s advice was sage and well-thought through. Nicky would come to rely on it for the rest of his life. The gods both men worshipped would be the foundation of Nicolo’s beliefs and morals his whole existence. But no matter where he was, no matter what predicament he found himself in, he would look back at this moment with gratitude and solemnity forever. Thousands of years in the future, he would remember what his son looked like as they said goodbye to each other as father and son for the final time. 

The feast that day was grand and fun and everyone enjoyed themselves. They all ate more than their fill, they danced and music played and Nicky took as many mental pictures as he possibly could of the day. He tried to memorize the feeling of being surrounded by family, of being safe and having somewhere to call home. He tried to bottle it up since he knew there would be lots of time in the future where he’d need it. Nicky then enjoyed himself. He said his goodbyes to members of the community and he drank wine and ate food and fell asleep in a pile of furs along with a few other drunken guests. 

In the early hours of the morning, Nicky stood at the border of their little town with his family. Martel, his children, and their grandchildren had all risen early to see him off. He had spoken with most of them the night before and could be certain that he wasn’t leaving without making sure they all knew how important they were to him. Of course, none of them would ever know that he was related to them, but one day, in the next life, they’d meet again. Nicky believed that fervently. 

He kissed everyone goodbye, taking his time and letting everyone give him their advice for the road, wishing him well, hoping that he’ll remember them and come back if he’s in the area. Then he arrived at Cara The little girl was older now, five (and a half!) years old. Her hair was in intricate braids that he had spent an hour doing the night before after dancing with her. The pair had become inseparable over the course of the past three years and Cara was devastated to be losing the man she knew as Uncle Aster. Nicky, holding back tears, gently cupped the little girl’s face and kissed her forehead. A few crocodile tears formed in her eyes and she shook her head, burying her face in her mother’s leg. She was upset he was leaving her. It broke Nicky’s heart, but he understood.

“Come now, bluebird.” He coaxed, using his nickname for her. Cara’s mother gently urged the girl to face her uncle. She did so, wiping tears away with her arm. Nicky smiled brightly at her. “There are those big blue eyes.” He smiled. “Now, you remember what we talked about the other day? You must always be brave but never afraid to ask for help. And you must keep a good eye on this village. Family is the most important thing.” He said. 

Nicky pulled the doll out from his bag. The weight of the moment wasn’t lost on him. As he passed on the last tie he had to home, he felt a weight lift off his shoulders. The necklace would always be a reminder of his first life but it wasn’t the same kind of connection. Passing the doll on to Cara allowed him to step forwards, to leave his first life behind with the knowledge that he was doing it the best way he could. A second chance to say goodbye properly. 

Cara took the doll and her face lit up. She sniffled and hugged the doll to her chest, nodding to Nicolo. She hesitated a moment before hugging him. Nicky’s arms wrapped around her for the last time and he kissed the top of her head, blinking back tears as he said his last goodbye. 

Finally, he chose to pull away. This was the right way and the right time. He nodded one last time to Martel and said goodbye to the group, then turned and walked away. Nicolo did not look back. He didn’t need to.


	9. Of His Own Making

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is kind of dark, as are the next two, so be warned!

Nicky left his home region far behind, unencumbered by guilt or sorrow. He mourned the loss of his family but in time, he was able to accept his lot. He spent the years experimenting, purposefully and not, with the limits of his immortality. So far, nothing could stop him for more than a day. The worst injury he’d sustained was when he’d been chased and devoured by a wolf pack. He’d grown back after a full day, it had not been pleasant. 

Nicky found that he was good at learning languages. He picked up a few as he traveled. He also learned to read and write, he found he was rather good at it, too and Nicky made a point of searching out books to read. He couldn’t take much though so he’d buy a book, read it, and give it to a church when he left town. 

Nicky became comfortable with traveling alone. Sometimes he would go weeks without saying a word to anybody but his horse. He’d practice his languages, sometimes he’d recount tales of the gods, but he never sang. The last person he’d sung to had been Cara and he didn’t want to sing again, not yet. Singing was for people you loved and Nicky had no love in his life. 

But he had loyalty, he had the unquestioning and unconditional love of a horse or a dog or a bird or whichever creature who needed help. He had momentary lust for other travelers or villagers he met along the road, he had affection for the creatures in his care and respect for those who taught him things. But he didn’t have love. 

Nicky wasn’t bitter about it, though. This was his lot and his condition meant that he would be loveless, it was his burden to bear. Nicolo just had to figure out why. The gods had plans and he was a pawn, he just couldn’t seem to figure out what his purpose was. He couldn’t interpret many of the messages he got so he followed his gut. 

Mostly his gut was reliable. He had good instincts, they improved with time and use. By necessity, his senses improved. He could see a bird on the top limb of a tree without even trying. He could hit a rabbit with one arrow, though traps were more efficient. He could track a deer for days without letting it know he was onto it. He could hear disturbances in the forest and make himself and his campsite completely unknowable in mere moments. Nicky became like a ghost, he walked lightly and moved fast, when he hunted he could stay perfectly still for hours if necessary, waiting for a single movement, a twig snapping, the flutter of a bird’s wing or the bristle of bushes to give his prey away. 

There were hard times too, times when his gut was wrong. Nicky almost always was able to get away with minimal damage, wounded pride, and a story for some traumatized local to tell. But there were times when he wasn’t so lucky. 

A hundred and eighty years after leaving his family, Nicky got low. He got sloppy. He stayed in the same area for too long since he’d found a nice cave in the mountains and didn’t want to leave. He was careful for a while, he tried not to hunt during the day and stayed away from the local village unless it was necessary. He couldn’t help but gather a few books and bring them back to his cave, it was nice for at time. It was easy to let the days go by, to let the hours pass and years fade away. 

That was Nicky’s first lesson in a long time, that while the years may fade away for him, they sped by for mortals, and people had better memories than he thought. Nicky was blissfully unaware of the stories mortals nearby told about him. He was completely ignorant that his existence had become a myth, that there were people who were starting to figure out that he was special. Times were desperate, winter was near, and they had somebody nearby who might hold the secret to an end of suffering, or maybe somebody who was threatening their entire existence, rumours were abound. 

Thinking back, Nicky made himself an embarrassingly easy target. He got lazy and stopped covering his tracks, he bought wine and drank too much, he fell into a deep, drunken slumber, the ashes of his fire keeping his feet warm as he dozed, a book open on his chest. Even his dog’s barking didn’t wake him. The locals killed him in his sleep, they shot an arrow through his forehead. And when Nicky’s skull spit it out and he woke up, they had him surrounded in moments. He never stood a chance. 

It was a month until he saw another person. Nicolo had been dragged in the dead of night to a small home beside a church. In ropes, he was tossed into a tiny cellar and the door above him slammed shut. It stayed closed for a month, during which time Nicky thought he might have lost all aspects of sanity. The tiny space was uncomfortable, but being underground was by far the worst part. When he’d been cast into darkness, Nicky panicked. He quickly learned that he hated being underground. Every time he moved he felt a cold body against him, bugs on his skin, blood sticking to his hair and clothes, memories of his first death, of shoving against the bodies of his fallen family members to escape to safety. 

Nicky spent hours panicking, screaming, crying, begging. Hours turned into days and his voice was hoarse, soon completely gone. His chest felt tight. His arms hurt and he struggled against the confines of his underground jail. He beat the door until his hands and knees and feet were bloody and raw and splintered, but he kept going. Nothing was in his mind but blind panic, until eventually he exhausted his energy and all he could manage was a weak kick now and then. He curled up, tears streaming down his face as he tried to gather his wits about him. 

He was somewhere near his cave, he knew that. A church. The people here were mortal, he could overpower them if he needed to. Sure, he typically wouldn’t hurt mortals unless he had to but this was different, he was in danger, he had to get out of here and he would hurt people if he had to. Kill if he had to, he was capable. Nicky fell asleep halfway through that thought, completely spent. He slept for who knew how long, it was dark no matter when he opened his eyes. He couldn’t even be sure his eyes were open, apparently he’d splintered the wooden door to the cellar because a stone had been pushed over most of it, blocking much of the air flow and most of the light. 

Once and a while, his captor would check up on him. They’d stand over the cellar door and look down into the dark space, they’d hold a candle up to the slit in the wooden door and peer down. Nicky had no idea when they came to check on him, there didn’t seem to be a schedule. No food was offered, no water, not even a bucket. The smell soon would have started to reek, but Nicky was unaware of it once he got used to it. 

Eventually, his body succumbed to hunger. It was extremely painful, far more so than Nicky would have imagined. The actual dying part was more of a numbing sleep, though. It was surprisingly easy to just drift off. It gave him a little bit of time to re-orient himself, to reset his brain.

Coming back was like being doused with cold water. With a gasp and a jolt, he’d awake. When no food came, Nicky figured a day or two later, he’d be gone again and repeat the cycle. He could feel his bones begin to show beneath his skin, he could see his muscles and body fat disappearing as he starved. 

It was a month later that the door was finally opened. In his extremely weakened state, all Nicky could do was try to shield his eyes from the blinding light as his captors looked at him. They dumped water overtop of him and he gasped, opening his mouth to try desperately to drink some, pressing his face to the dirt floor to try to drink from the ground when it puddled. A stone-faced man reached in and dragged him out of his cellar, his cramped limbs painfully straightening as he was tossed onto the wooden floor of the small building. Nicky groaned and pressed his face to the floor. There were voices around him speaking a language he recognized, but his mind wouldn’t work fast enough yet to translate. 

“This is it, the one I told you about in my letter. We tried it ourselves, it’s miraculous. He won’t die. He’s been down there a full moon cycle, no food, no water, and he’s still alive.” 

“Incredible.” Came another voice, quieter with a distinct and unrecognizable accent. “And you said you destroyed his head the first time? You shot him with an arrow and his skull forced it out before he even opened his eyes?” 

“That’s right, yes. We searched his cave but found no evidence of evil besides a few runes carved into the side of the rock, we don’t know if they were his, though.” 

Nicky felt cold hands on his body. He was being tied up again, then flipped over. He cried out hoarsely as his face was exposed to the light again. He tried to struggle with all his might but he had little strength left. The two men picked him up and carried him out of the house and to a waiting cart. Nicky got a better look at his captors. One man he recognized as a religious leader in the community, it must have been his cellar he’d been kept in. The other man wore robes and was unfamiliar, but given the books in his bag, Nicky assumed he was a researcher of some sort. 

That made Nicky the experiment.


	10. Darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a shorter chapter and it begins to get dark and graphic, next chapter is worse. so if that is something you don't like, I recommend tuning back in the chapter after next.
> 
> PS I promise he's going to meet the others soon! Thanks for reading!

He died of hunger again as he was loaded onto the cart. His vision failed him and he was limply tossed in and tied down. 

Nicky awoke a few hours later, given the sun’s position. The cart jostled him uncomfortably but this was heaven compared to the cellar. His mind struggled to figure out where he was, but he could only see the tops of trees from his position so it proved useless during the daytime. 

The cart stopped when his captor realized he was awake. Nicky could hear the man climbing out of the driver’s seat and walking around to his side. He turned his head and glared at the figure who approached. He cursed him three times over in his native tongue but was cut off when the man shoved something in his mouth. 

Confused, he tried to spit it out, but then he tasted it. An apple. It was a piece of fruit and it tasted absolutely heavenly. Nicky immediately chewed and swallowed it. The man above him chuckled and fed him another piece, which Nicky took without hesitation. He practically moaned as the juice ran down the side of his mouth. 

“Can’t have you dying again before we get you home, I have plans for you and you need your strength.” The man tutted. He stopped feeding Nicky when the apple was mostly done and he ate the last few pieces himself. Nicky’s hollow stomach growled when he saw the other man devour the rest of his food. He felt feral, like he would have attacked the person for just a crumb. It was pitiful, but a strong reminder that Nicolo was still human. 

The rest of the cart ride was uneventful. He slept a little bit, exhausted already. He regained a bit of his strength thanks to the fruit and tested his ropes. They were strong, far too strong for him to break. He’d have to find another way out of this. Perhaps when they got to their destination, when his captor inevitably had to untie him, he’d make his move. 

Unfortunately, Nicky was too predictable. His captor killed him with a long knife he pulled from his robes, cutting Nicky’s throat before he untied him. 

Nicky woke in another cellar, but this one was far bigger. He was standing, tied to a post and nude. He was wet, too. There was a puddle of water at his feet, his hair dripping. Nicky’s body was shaking, too. He looked around, trying to get his bearings. He tested the ropes, tried to gauge his energy, tried to force his exhausted mind to form a plan. 

Nicky heard something clacking against wood over in the corner and his head shot around. He saw his figure in the corner with something in his hands. The man turned to face him, grinning. It was unsettling, there was a look in his eyes that betrayed a desperation Nicky didn’t like. 

“Good evening! Welcome back to the land of the living. Your healing, it’s remarkable. It took a while but I assume that’s because of your overall state. Really, they should have taken better care of you if you were to be my specimen, but I suppose I can’t blame them.” The man said. He stepped closer and the light from a nearby candle illuminated his face. Nicky got a better look at him. There was a dark birthmark on his cheek and he had a scar on his neck that had clearly healed poorly. Every time the corner of his mouth raised, it tugged the skin connected to the scar and made for an awkward portrait. 

Nicky’s gaze traveled to the item in the man’s hands and he practically growled. 

“This is very old, this necklace. These shells, they must be centuries old. The rope is new and the stone is carved with such care, but these runes, they’re ancient. Much like you, I suspect.” The captor mused, holding the necklace up to Nicky’s neck. He tutted, tapping the man’s prominent collarbone. “It was unfortunately covered in blood but I did my best to clean it off for you. Not that you’ll be needing it for a while. I imagine, I hope, you’ll be here for the foreseeable future. One day I’ll die and those ropes will rot and you’ll be free. Or maybe one day I’ll die and somebody will discover you down here and take pity, unless they discover what you are and decide to keep you for themselves. But the point is, you’ll be here quite a while. I was hired by the townspeople who found you to figure out what you are and if you’re a threat or if you could help them. So I suppose we’ll see in time.” The man mused. He stepped back as Nicky tried to headbutt him, tutting. The captor put his necklace on a wooden table and picked up his knife. 

“Now, obviously we have to begin by testing your limits. Starvation and thirst has already been tested, so we’ll start elsewhere. I didn’t get to witness your death of blood loss earlier, so I suppose that’s as good a place to start as any.” The man mused with the casualness of a conversation about the weather. He raised the knife to Nicky’s throat and cut it again.


	11. Agony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gets very dark and a bit graphic (torture etc.) so if that's not your thing, be warned. This is the last dark chapter for now, next chapter is much nicer, I promise.

Nicky supposed this was punishment. The days he’d whiled away in his cave selfishly living in relative comfort passed by twice here in the new cellar, not that he’d know. This hell didn’t have a window either. He quickly discovered that it would be very difficult to escape. The first time he’d tried, he’d managed to break one of his ropes and undid his other bonds, then stole his necklace and tried to throttle his captor when the man came back into the room. But the captor was faster, he brought his knife up and sliced the necklace open, nicking himself in the throat as he did so. He brought the knife down for the hundredth time on Nicky’s leg, then into his chest again and again until he was gone. 

Nicky woke up in a box. He had no food, no water, and was there for a very long time. His captor had quickly figured out that he didn’t like being underground or being in cramped spaces and used that against him very effectively. It was a go-to threat, one he’d made good on before, but this time was different. This time it wasn’t just a painful few hours, it was days. When he let NIcky out, he withheld food so he wouldn’t be strong enough to escape. 

The tortures got more personal after that. The man had another scar on his neck and he wasn’t pleased about it. He burned Nicky alive as he put his necklace back together, nonchalantly looping a new rope through the holes in the stone as Nicky experienced the most intense agony he’d ever been through. 

It took a long time after that for Nicolo to gather the courage to try to escape again. He knew he’d been there a long time. His captor had grey hairs, a few wrinkles on his face, sometimes Nicky could hear a cane upstairs above the cellar. He took his time getting up and down the cellar stairs some nights, particularly when it rained. Nicky could tell because the soil smelled differently when it rained. The pretense of studying Nicky for knowledge or information had long since lapsed. The monster took joy in torturing him, that was the only reason he was here. 

He never learned the monster’s name so he called him nothing, he tried not to think of him. He’d tried to make conversation with the man now and then, but most of the time he was alone or in agony. There was little time for small talk. His world became the underground chamber. He started to live in his dreams. He’d remember a time when he sailed along the coast with his children, teaching them how to spot fish even though both were too young to remember. He dreamed of Marielle, of sitting by the fire with her. When those dreams inevitably turned to nightmares about the scorching heat, he’d wake up shivering and shaking and sometimes crying, but the moment of bliss when he remembered friendly faces was worth it. 

Sometimes he’d hallucinate. He’d hear Cara’s voice shouting at him to go hide because it was her turn to seek now. Sometimes he’d hear his dog barking or feel a breeze on his skin. He learned he was still capable of getting sick with food poisoning and in a feverish, illness-fueled state, he’d had a whole conversation with Martel. Years later, he would wonder if those hallucinations were visits from long-gone spirits, perhaps his soul, stuck as it was between this world and the next, could reach out to those beyond the grave. He never did get his answer. 

Twenty years after Nicky had been kidnapped, his captor came downstairs with a cane for the first time. He had caught the flu or something similar and was sniffling, miserable, complaining of aching bones. Nicky mostly ignored him and steeled himself for whatever today had to bring. He had found it much easier to simply wait the man out. One day, he would die and NIcky would be free. 

But it seemed that he wasn’t the only one getting complacent. Nicky’s predicament was that he had limited range of movement, enough to keep his limbs warmed and walk a pace or two. He could sit or stand or lie down, but the ropes around all his limbs and his neck were all tied to different places, no rope was so long that he could use his leverage to help his cause. His captor would come down to the cellar and pull all the ropes taut, forcing Nicky into a standing position with his limbs outstretched. Today though, the man’s strength was waning. He pulled the ropes but hadn’t secured them tightly or pulled them as taut as normal. Nicky tugged on them as he often did, but was shocked to feel some give on his left hand. 

He tried not to let his excitement show. While the man’s back was turned Nicky tested it again just to be sure it wasn’t in his mind. He definitely felt some give. This was his moment. He watched his captor approach holding a vial of poison. Nicky paid it no mind. He tensed his arm and, when the man got close enough, used all his strength to tug down on the rope. Miraculously, it came loose. 

Nicolo acted on autopilot. He yanked the rope towards him and wrapped it around the old man’s neck. The force of his movements pulled the other ropes free. Nicky landed on top of the man and heard a snap of a bone, he didn’t know or care whose it was. The man’s hand let go of the vial of poison and it smashed on the ground next to him. With his captor under his hands after so many years of torment, Nicolo saw red. 

Years later, Nicky would say he didn’t remember what happened. He blacked out, he would shrug. He probably just snapped his neck and moved on. After all, revenge on a mortal who would be dead in a few years was nothing compared to how desperately he needed to go outside and see the sunlight again. It didn’t matter. The monster was dead and that was the end of it. 

But it did matter. Nicky was not proud of his actions that day. He took his chance to put his captor in his predicament. He knew he had to choose his death wisely so he went with the one that seemed the most personal. Nicky put him in the box, found another vial of poison, one that wouldn’t kill, and he stuck around for a little bit. He ate some food, went outside, got some water, took a bath, put his necklace back on, stole some clothes, and went back to see how the monster was faring. Not well, was the answer. It didn’t phase Nicolo one bit. He brought down some wood that had been chopped for the fireplace upstairs. He got some rags and other flammable items, covered the wooden box with them, and set fire to it. He took his time going upstairs and setting fire to the house, then he walked away. He would later be ashamed to say that he felt perfectly calm the entire time.


	12. Dreams

Nicolo was very familiar with trauma. He was painfully aware that the past twenty years would stay with him for a very long time. It became obvious the first time he was able to make camp for himself. He went through the motions of starting a fire, only to have a painful flashback and end up sleeping without one and eating berries instead of fish. This part of the world was very cold though, and after he woke up one night shaking violently from the cold, he decided it was time to go south. He took his time once it got warmer, though. The years passed and he wandered. He would stop in towns along the way and complete the odd job. He’d even picked up a few mercenary jobs here and there, but only if the target had done something truly heinous. 

In the coming decades, Nicky began to dream vividly. At first he just figured it was a reaction to getting out of the cellar, but he soon noticed a pattern. His dreams were all about a stranger, one woman he’d never seen before. In fact, he’d only ever seen a handful of people in all his years that looked similarly to her. Nicky tended to avoid bigger cities so he hadn’t come across many major trade routes, but with these new dreams, his imagination wandered. 

The first dream he had of the woman was of her dying. He figured it was his own trauma leaking through. She was betrayed by somebody close to her. In the middle of the night, somebody came into her room and tried to kill her, they tried to smother her in her sleep. Nicky could feel his chest expand as he gasped for air, he could feel his eyes popping out of his head as the woman screamed and fought against the much stronger person on top of her. Eventually, she went slack and Nicky woke up with a start, gasping for breath, hands scrabbling at the dirt to find something to hold onto. It had been so vivid. More realistic even than the hallucinations he’d had in the cellar. Nicky wondered if this was a message from the gods. 

The next dreams made Nicky feel like he was hearing bits and pieces of a story. When he next fell asleep, he saw her walking through a green field, alone, trying to hide her face from passersby. The next dream found her in a different village on a river. The houses were very different from what Nicky had seen, he wondered how his mind could possibly make this up. The art on the walls and language the people spoke were beautiful but completely foreign to him. The food she ate looked mouth wateringly good but he had no idea what it was. Sometimes he’d wake up and imagined he could still taste whatever it was. 

Then, she was traveling again. She was training with a bow and arrow, with knives, with a sort of fighting that looked like dance. She was very good, Nicky could see in her an innate talent, one he was jealous of. She moved confidently and with precision, each movement was thought out but she didn’t linger. She was four steps ahead of her opponent. It was as if watching a master class in fighting.

The dreams changed as the woman traveled. She was moving west. Nicky moved south, then east, then north, then south, he was in no rush to go anywhere specific. The climate got warmer and a year passed and Nicky was still dreaming of the woman every night. He’d come to wonder if she was real. She had died a few times in his dreams. He wondered if maybe, their dreams drew them to each other. It had been nearly a century by now and though he didn’t dream every night, she was a near constant fixture. 

He started seeking out merchants who had been to far away places. He asked them about the art he saw in his dreams, the houses, the warm and muggy climate, anything he could think of to figure out where the woman was from or where she was at the moment. He was directed to a merchant in a big city, so with some trepidation, Nicolo made his way to a trade city that the Romans had occupied on the border of their territory. 

It was far bigger than any city Nicky had ever seen. There were massive walls, hundreds of people, guards at the entrance, thousands of animals and buildings, it was daunting and exciting all at once. Nicky had never been around so many people. He was at home with birds and squirrels and maybe a dog and horse for companionship. But if he wanted to figure out who this woman was, he needed to at least try to find her. And if she was a trauma-induced figment of his imagination? Then he’d have somewhere new to travel. Somewhere that didn’t remind him of pain. 

Nicky found an inn first. He ordered a room for a few nights since he desperately needed to wash and rest. He had spent days walking to get here since he’d been unable to afford a horse and the stablekeeper refused to give him one in exchange for a service. Nicky was still bitter about that. He was even more bitter when the innkeeper asked him to pay up front. Angrily muttering to himself about how times were changing, he fished a few coins from his purse and handed them to the innkeeper. 

She took them and inspected them for a long moment, then laughed a full, deep laugh. Nicky didn’t understand the local language very well, but he recognized the word for tourist. She returned two of his coins to him and took only the one, then gave Nicky two small gold coins in return. 

“You are very lucky I’m in a good mood, stupid.” She said, patting his hand. “These are worth a lot more than you think here. Keep them close, don’t let anybody swindle you.” She tutted before Nicky could figure out if he had to be offended or not. Blushing, he nodded, putting them back in his coin purse and thanking her sheepishly. She gave him a key and a plate of good smelling food, flat bread, and an alcoholic drink he’d never seen before, then sent him on his way. The world was changing too fast for him. 

\-------------------------

The city was massive. Nicky began to ask around the next morning about a merchant who went by the name “Eren”. Most people didn’t know what he was talking about so he ended up exploring the city. The wealth here was staggering. There were massive houses with servants, stores that sold jewels and fine cloth, people even sold dead animals so that you wouldn’t have to do the hunting yourself. Nicky was highly skeptical of all of it, but it was fascinating. He saw people in all sorts of clothing and styles. He was so interested by everything going on that his first afternoon, he gave up his mission entirely and bought a sketchbook and charcoal. He began to write down everything he saw in fine detail, describing every outfit down to the last feather, every smell to the note, every merchant to the corny sales tactic. 

Incredible and new and exciting as the city was, Nicky soon found it overwhelming. In a place this big, people were always awake and moving and busy. The constant flow of people never stopped. Some stores closed and others opened as the sun went down. Nicky wandered the streets trying to find his way back to the hotel and learned what people could buy nowadays if they had the money. He got lost six times on his way back and never seemed to be on the same street twice. The incredible city was teeming with life. After twenty years in a cellar and the past three trying to look for a woman he didn’t know existed, Nicky was long overdue to experience a bit of life. He even enjoyed it.


	13. The Story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I absolutely love reading your comments, thank you all! I hope you enjoy this chapter, it's a little longer than most of them because I went a little crazy but it was fun to write.

The next day, he spoke with the innkeeper about the merchant, Eren. She had heard his name before and gave him a place to visit where merchants often congregated. After breakfast, he visited the central market. Early in the morning, it wasn’t quite so busy. Merchants shops weren’t open yet and while there were a few people, it was relatively quiet. He approached a nearby shopkeeper who was getting ready to open. In his quiet way, Nicolo asked her if she knew a man called Eren. The woman laughed, a high-pitched, breathy sound, and nodded. 

“Of course I know Eren. Troublemaker that he is. He’s always stopping by here trying to get things for free in exchange for a good story.” She replied fondly. She offered him a mug of something hot and brown. Curiously, Nicky peered into the cup. 

“What is this?” He asked, momentarily distracted from his mission. 

“Tea, dear. You drink it. Try it, is this your first one ever? It’s on the house.” She offered with a smile. 

Nicky tentatively raised the cup to his lips and took a sip. It was delicious. Strong, dark, a completely new taste, but incredible. He smiled faintly and nodded his head to her, thanking her sincerely for the drink. 

“My pleasure, it’s always nice to start the day sharing a tea with a handsome stranger asking about my husband.” She laughed. “My name is Farah. He should be here soon. Feel free to stay until he shows up.” She added. Nicky nodded his thanks, introduced himself, and fished a small gold coin from his pocket, one he had been given as change by the innkeeper. She tutted and shook her head. 

“You insult me to push my generosity away. Keep your money, dear. How about you tell me a story, keep me entertained until Eren shows up?” She asked kindly, a twinkle in her eye as she continued to set up her shop. Nicky chuckled, but put the money away and looked off into the distance for a moment. He hadn’t told a story in a long time. He wondered if he still knew how. 

Nicky took a few moments before he nodded. The only story that came to mind was one he knew like the back of his hand. He took another sip of tea, a faraway look in his eyes. Farah felt an odd but comforting lull at her little booth. She picked up a large pot and sat down, beginning to quietly clean it as Nicky began to speak. 

“For a very long time, Kiran walked. He didn’t know why but he understood at his very core that it was important he didn’t stop moving. The young man didn’t remember where he’d come from and he didn’t know what his destination would be, but he trusted the spirits (Nicky was very careful to say spirits, he knew using the plural ‘gods’ could get people in trouble in big cities nowadays), he knew that they would lead him to safety. Even though Kiran walked through beautiful forests and sailed over magnificent lakes, the beauty around him was never enough to please him, to keep him satisfied and entice him to stay.

One day, he reached a clear spot in a forest. Kiran made his camp here. He found berries in abundance, native plants grew so quickly that after he picked one, a second sprouted right up beside it. Birds and rabbits and all manner of creatures came to a spring that lay on one end of the clearing, but the predators shied away from the open space. Kiran marvelled at the perfection of the space. It was small but he knew that anybody who was lucky enough to make their home here would be very well taken care of for the rest of their days. 

The next day, Kiran packed up his camp as usual. The thought to stay in the pasture one more night crossed his mind, but he quickly brushed it aside. This was not where his spirits were leading him. He continued on his journey, but after only half a day, reached the sea. It was vast, the waves were high, a storm was visible far away. He huffed, discouraged, and kicked a few rocks into the shallows in his frustration. He couldn’t stop now, he needed to keep moving but there was no way forward. He was at the edge of the world. 

Kiran sat down on a stone and stared out towards the water. He thought of the paradise he’d left behind. He thought about the towns he’d traveled through, the people who asked him to stay a few more nights, to rest another evening. He wondered if maybe he’d misinterpreted the spirits’ wishes. If perhaps he had taken a wrong turn, missed his destination, and was doomed to spend eternity wandering, endlessly looking for an unknown final place. Kiran was older now than when he set out. His hair had begun to grow weaker, his knees ached at times. 

Just then, he noticed something in the waves. Kiran’s eyes fixed to a piece of wood that floated towards him and landed at his feet. He leaned down to pick it up and found a name on the side, half worn off by the ocean waves, mostly illegible. It wasn’t the words on the wood that stood out to Kiran, though. No, he knew this was a sign that there was something beyond these shores. 

With a renewed sense of purpose, Kiran looked out to sea and faced it with determination. He found driftwood along the shore and began to build a boat using the materials he could find. He set sail before dark and sat on the deck, his back to the land, facing forward. 

Many miles away and a very long time ago, a young woman named Isa began to walk. She too couldn’t remember where she came from. She knew her purpose was to find a destination unknown. She knew she couldn’t stop until the spirits told her to. Isa, just like Kiran, understood that there were greater forces at play within herself, reaching out to the world around her as she passed by. She passed through towns she wouldn’t stay in. She found beautiful lakes and valleys of plenty that she simply took a night’s rest in and left behind, for those marvelous places were not hers to claim. 

Isa spent many nights staring at the stars. She wondered what her ancestors thought of her, whoever they were. She wondered whether she was doing the right thing by continuing her walk. She wondered if she should stop a while longer in one of the towns. But Isa knew deep in her heart that nothing would satisfy her until she reached her destination. 

Eventually, Isa reached a mountainside. It was the first range of mountains she’d ever seen. She had heard rumours that they were tall, unforgiving, impassable barriers that could shelter as much as they exposed. She came to rest in a picturesque village at the foot of the mountain. She passed creatures she’d never seen before which cried at her out of interest as she walked through her field. 

As she walked into town, Isa was approached by a young woman with beautiful flowers in her hair. The young lady asked what she was doing here and Isa gave her the answer she gave all those she met. She was on a very long journey, one she could not stop. The young lady invited her to stay the night in her home, to wait out the coming storm. Gratefully, Isa accepted the offer. 

The storm lasted the full night. The wind howled and the snow pounded the tiny village. The mountains did nothing to keep the elements away, they simply sat stoically upon their seat, observing as the small village under their watch was buried. 

In the morning, Isa began to pack her bags. The woman who had allowed her into her home stopped her. She begged her to stay another night, to keep herself warm in her home and share stories and laugh around the fire as they waited this storm out. The village was beautiful, she argued. It was full of friendly faces and, though they had their struggles during the winter months, the community always came together and helped each other through. Isa agreed that it sounded like a paradise. For a moment, she was tempted to stay. She thought about a life here, idyllic, peaceful, quiet, plentiful and kind. But she knew in her heart that she had to leave. Isa packed her bags, thanked her gracious host, and began to trudge through the snow up towards the mountain peaks. Her hair was greying and her skin began to show some wrinkles, but Isa didn’t let her mortal body get in the way of what she knew her soul had to accomplish. 

Climbing the mountain was the hardest thing she’d ever done. Countless times while trekking a path through the jagged rocks, Isa had to stop and rest. She had little food with her so she resorted to catching mice along the path. She melted snow for water and huddled against the sharp rocks to keep herself warm in front of a flickering fire for the nights. There were many times that Isa broke down crying, afraid that she couldn’t do it, that these mountains would defeat her. But there were more times that she stood up, more times that she took a step forward and persevered. Isa moved forward with a strength she didn’t know she held within her. 

Isa was unaware that, on the other side of the mountains, there was a sea. In that sea, an old man whose makeshift boat had been destroyed in a storm was swimming desperately for shore. Each stroke of his arms was a battle against the current, each kick of his legs a tired attempt to propel himself forwards. The man had been swimming for days. He had lost his boat, his supplies, he had lost everything but his faith and so he swam, for that was all he needed. 

As Isa reached the mountain peak, her eyes landed on the man desperately hauling himself ashore. Kiran panted, frail chest heaving as he lay on the sand and looked up at the sky. It was nighttime. The stars were out, he could see their patterns as they danced through the heavens. He smiled and began to laugh, a hoarse and breathless but beautiful sound. He had made it to the other end of the earth and he could feel that he was in the right place. His frail and weakened body should have been too exhausted to go on, but he was given the strength to stand up, to look around. And when Kiran looked up towards the mountains rising high in the sky, he saw Isa.” 

Nicky paused here. Farah had stopped washing her pot long ago and was hanging onto every word of the tale. Fantastical as it was, Nicky was a very skilled storyteller. The woman seemed to hold her breath and when Nicky paused and looked at her, she sensed a longing in his eyes. It was one that she didn’t think even he was aware of. Nicky looked down before he continued, his voice carrying the story onwards. 

“The two souls were destined to meet here, in exactly this way. One day longer in a village, one more night spent resting somewhere comfortable and they would have missed each other. They were drawn together by forces they could only dream of. They had spent their lives traveling, reaching this point. Isa climbed down the mountain and walked towards the beach and Kiran walked towards the foot of the mountain. They met each other on the flat ground at the foot of the mountain. There, they sat down together. Each of them was so tired from their journey that they fell asleep, entwined together. The sun rose and set, the moon watched as the grass and trees slowly grew overtop of them. Their souls rose to the heavens and for eternity, they find their place in the stars, traveling together, watching the world unfold beneath their feet. The place where their bodies lay is a hill, one where beautiful flowers of red and blue bloom and no matter how cold it gets, no matter if the sea rises up and floods it, the flowers remain.”


	14. Eren

“That’s a beautiful story. But the ending is sad.” Farah remarked when Nicky finished talking. She refilled his mug with the rest of the tea and Nicky thanked her. “A story that long deserves another half mug.” She teased. Nicky laughed, tipping his head to her. 

“Thank you, ma’am. It’s delicious. And warm. As hot as this place is during the day, it gets so cold at night.” He commented. It struck him that this was the longest he’d spoken to anybody in decades. Farah was the kind of person who was easy to talk to. Nicky liked her. 

“It’s my pleasure, Nicolo. Now, see that ridiculous looking man there with the coat that looks like it was made by a blind child? That’s my husband, the man you want to talk to.” She said, though her teasing voice betrayed a fondness that gave Nicky the sense she had a deep love and respect for the man. Eren approached the booth, humming a tune that sounded vaguely familiar. He tipped his hat and bowed low to Farah, then held out a bouquet of flowers and herbs. 

“For you, my love. Only the fairest blooms for my flower.” He practically sang. Farah just laughed and swatted at his hand with a dishrag. 

“And it’s a good thing you brought extra since you’re an hour late helping me set up my shop, which you’ll surely have noticed is finished, no thanks to you.” She replied, walking around the booth and kissing him. The couple shared an embrace before Farah turned and gestured to Nicolo, who had averted his gaze to allow them some time alone. “This is Nicolo. He was given your name by some of the other merchants, he has some questions for you about one of the stops along your route.” She explained. 

Eren nodded and turned to Nicky. 

“It’s nice to meet you.” Nicky began, shaking the man’s hand and bowing his head to him respectfully. “I am looking for a place where people live in big tents.” He explained, trying to remember his most recent dream. The woman had traveled north after moving east (at least, as best Nicky could approximate) and was staying somewhere cold with nomads. “The people have tanned skin and they ride horses and have large herds of...of cows, I think. They’re big, though, and very furry, with horns. And the climate is cold.” He explained. 

“Oh yes!” Eren nodded, delighted. He began to explain what would come to be known as the Steppe to Nicolo, who listened, fascinated. The nomadic communities were fascinating, their technology had developed so differently from his home. They didn’t rely on metal and had only just begun to use it, but they were vastly more improved in many ways Nicky couldn’t imagine. The stories Eren told of massive moving cities, of thousands upon thousands of cattle and other livestock. It sounded incredible and Nicky knew his dreams were about this place. 

“Would you be willing to let me accompany you there?” Nicky asked, excited. Farah cut in and answered for her husband, who looked to her sheepishly. 

“Eren has promised me he’d stay home for the next month to help me take care of my sister’s children, they’re with us until their parents get back from a pilgrimage. But if you are around after, then…” She looked to her husband, who nodded. 

“Unfortunately Farah is right, I need to stay here for a while. But a caravan leaves for those lands tomorrow, you can join them if you’d like, I'll vouch for you.” He offered. Nicky nodded, thanking the pair. 

Farah and Eren invited Nicky to stay with them that night. He happily agreed and spent the night sharing stories with the enigmatic couple and a few small children who looked a lot like Farah and reminded Nicky of his own kin. It was a lovely evening, one he would remember fondly for a very long time. He tried to avoid making personal connections nowadays, but sometimes, for a brief moment, it was nice. Farah even gave him a bag of tea to take with him on his journey to remember them by. When he left the following morning, he gave Farah one of his silver coins out of gratitude and wished the family well.


	15. Quynh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally!

The following month on the road was comfortable. The caravan was full of people with interesting stories and different foods and goods and other things Nicky soaked up like a sponge. The dreams were just as vivid as that first night. The woman was with a smaller group now, just a few people. She seemed to like traveling in groups, though Nicolo knew without question that she didn’t need anybody else. How could he forget her first death? She had been training since that moment to be sure she never needed anybody else. Nicky respected her for it. He wondered what she was like in person. He felt close to her already and had even begun to pick up some of the language she spoke. It was choppy and he could really only make his best guess but he was proud of himself anyways. 

Nicky had to stay watch sometimes so he missed the dreams those nights. Sometimes, he wouldn’t dream of her at all even when he could sleep. Normally this wasn’t an issue, but then the dreams changed out of seemingly nowhere. Nicky missed one night of sleep and couldn’t find time to nap the next day. When he dreamt the following night, the woman was alone. She had no horse, no tents, no companions. The sun was blazing down on her. It was summer and the temperature here was unforgiving, so different from the frigid winters. The woman was in a barren land, no water anywhere to be seen. It didn’t look too different from the terrain Nicky found himself crossing into now and he felt like he was on the right track. 

He took that as a sign to leave the safety of the caravan. The next morning, Nicky thanked those he’d made friends with, used most of the rest of his coins to buy a travel pack and enough water to keep him alive for the next while, if he rationed. He began to travel, heading in the direction that some members of the caravan pointed him in, hoping to find a desert. 

As Nicky traveled over the next weeks, his dreams were the almost the same. The woman kept wandering through the desert. Nicky wondered if she was walking in circles or if she was walking in a straight line. With this place, it would be impossible to tell. The poor woman had no water or supplies and he saw, he felt, her die of thirst or sun exposure or heat exhaustion a few times. Each time he startled awake, packed his camp up, and kept pressing on. He was lucky to find a small stream where he refilled all his water, but it was pure luck. 

Soon Nicky saw familiar territory. He was sure that this was the place. As he looked over the rocky cliffs in the desert, he saw a figure in the distance. His heart jumped and all of a sudden, the reality of the situation struck him. He was right. His dreams were real, they weren’t just a figment of his imagination. He smiled widely and led his horse down the ravine towards the figure. He knew it had to be her. 

Nicky picked up speed as the woman stumbled and fell to her knees. He watched her succumb once more and he was in a full gallop, his poor horse labouring under the hot sun to get Nicky to his target as quickly as he possibly could. She still hadn’t moved when he finally reached her, which made the man’s heart sink. 

Dropping to his knees in front of the woman, Nicky felt for a pulse. There was none, but he held out hope. Cruel as the gods could be, he knew they weren’t this bad. This was the woman from his dreams, he was sure of it. They wouldn’t guide him to her just for her to slip away in his arms...right? Nicky fumbled for his water flask, opening it and holding it to the woman’s lips, letting it run over her in a trickle. She was beautiful, she looked exhausted and her skin was burned from the days in the hot sun without shelter. She was covered in sand and her hair was a tangled mess, her feet were bare and burned and scarred, her clothes torn from the wind and sand and rocks. Nicky kept a finger on her pulse, holding his breath. 

Then, her chest rose. Her heart fluttered under his fingers and she gasped, breathing in water. Nicky pulled the flask away for the moment, holding her. She was weak from her ordeal but as soon as she realized somebody was holding her, she grabbed him. The frantic woman had Nicolo pinned in seconds flat despite how he had two feet and at least sixty pounds on her. 

Nicky didn’t try to throw her off. She panted, teeth bared as she pushed down on his wrists and forced him down against the rocky ground. Her chest heaved and her hands began to shake ever so slightly as she stared down at him. Nicolo stared up at her, waiting for her to finish what she’d started. Instead, her eyes widened and she grinned. The ferocious expression changed on a dime and she laughed, looking like she was meeting a long lost friend.

“It’s you!” She exclaimed, wrapping her thin arms around Nicky’s neck in an embrace, laughing as she held him. Her skin was hot to the touch, Nicky knew she must still have been feeling the effects of the sun but he was too distracted by the moment to think about it. He beamed right back at her and hugged her in return, his hand coming to rest on her head like he was embracing a family member. 

“It’s you!” He parroted in a choppy and nearly intelligible accent. “I...I dreamed. And traveled.” He struggled, hoping he was getting the language and accent right. Nicky sat up and the woman didn’t get off. She was shaking. It occurred to Nicky when she burrowed into him without responding that she was suffering from heat stroke. “I...no hurting.” He promised, fumbling for his water. He held it to her lips and helped her drink. He knew not to let her have too much since she’d just throw it up so he pulled it away soon, which broke his heart. She was so desperate for water. 

Nicky managed to get her onto his horse. He took them to the cliffs and found an area of shade where he set up his tent. They would stay here for the night while the woman slept off her heat exhaustion and cooled down. She was delirious and mostly unconscious. Sure enough, she threw up the water at first but then, after having some more, kept it down. Nicky kept an eye on her and was pleased to see her begin to cool down. He stayed awake that night and watched over her. He managed to catch a small creature and cooked it over a fire. The woman didn’t wake up, but he kept some aside for when she would. Her skin had healed, the burns long gone. Soon, she fell into a deep sleep and didn’t wake until the sun was high in the sky the following morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to stick to the way Quynh was found by Andy in the movies but completely made up the little bit of backstory I gave her.


	16. The First Days

The following morning, the woman woke without Nicky noticing. Cracking an eye open, she watched as he wrote in a book he carried with him. She observed her new companion silently. She barely remembered a thing from the night before, but she did know that she felt much better. She had clearly had some water. She felt rested. She was weak from hunger but not from anything else, which was nearly as good as it could get for her lately. As she woke further, she realized who the person was. She couldn’t stop herself from gasping, giving herself away. 

Nicky looked up from his journal when the woman gasped. He smiled, setting it aside, and offered his flask to her wordlessly. He had come to the realization the night before that, even though he could understand some of what she said, his own attempts to speak her language were not good enough yet to get by. 

The woman sat up, eyes wide as she took in the man from her dreams. She’d had a dream that he’d saved her the night before, but maybe it had been a memory. It was all very fuzzy. Uncharacteristically trusting, she accepted the flask and drank, nearly moaning as the life-giving water soothed her sore throat. She couldn’t help but finish it and sheepishly passed the empty waterskin back to Nicky. 

“You’re from my dreams.” She mused, brushing his hand with her fingers just to be sure he was real. Nicky nodded in response and held a hand to his chest. 

“Nicolo. Nicky.” He introduced himself with a smile, pleased she was feeling better.

“Quynh.” She replied easily, curiosity abundant in her voice. “You understand me?” She asked, wondering how that was possible. He spoke a language she’d never heard before and had traveled through regions with different languages often enough that even if she’d been able to get a grasp of one, it’d be gone before she could realize.

“Yes. Little. I...I say. No good with say. Understand little.” He stammered, the crease of his brow growing as he tried to get the words right. Quynh smiled and a warmth blossomed in Nicky’s chest as he chuckled at his own attempt to communicate. 

“I’ll take it slow.” Quynh promised. She had questions but at this point, they weren’t important enough to ask. Quynh had been alive for nearly two centuries. Nicky nearly seven. They had time to talk about the important things later. Quynh was hungry now. Nicky passed her some meat he was cooking over the fire. He’d eaten her portion from the night before when it became clear she was sleeping for a long time and had made sure to catch her some fresh that morning. 

They rode along the cliffs together later that day after packing up camp. As they rode, Quynh made conversation and Nicky nodded or shook his head or laughed or listened. He was absolutely delighted to have a companion, one who couldn’t die. He didn’t know what this meant for them yet, he didn’t know if she would agree to travel with him for longer but the more time he spent with Quynh, the more he hoped she’d stay. She was funny, witty, clever. She was clearly aching for some conversation after so long wandering the desert alone and Nicky was thrilled that she would carry most of the conversation. He took the chance to learn more of the language. Once and a while he’d have to ask about a few words. Sometimes Quynh would get excited about a story and she’d pick up the speed, then he lost the plot entirely but it didn’t matter. He was just happy to listen to her. 

Quynh was clearly a talented storyteller and Nicky didn’t realize how much he had longed for conversation with somebody he could bond with. Every time he shared stories with people, he knew they were forming a bond and he knew he would leave and never see the mortals again so he avoided it wherever possible. Stories were about connection. Hearing Quynh’s stories filled one of the holes in his heart and made him feel whole again. 

When they finally made it to the edge of the desert, they both whooped for joy. Nicky laughed, his face hurting after smiling for so long. His poor horse was exhausted so they stopped at the first stream they found. Nicky made camp and Quynh took his bow. She vanished before he could say a word and he immediately became concerned, but something told him not to worry. 

Sure enough, she was back an hour later with his bow, a dead bird for dinner, and extra wood for arrows. She grinned at him and winked when she entered the camp, tossing him the bird. 

“You didn’t think I’d abandon you after talking your ear off for three days, did you?” She teased, ruffling his hair and plopping down beside the fire. He began to pluck the bird, laughing. 

“You need horse.” He replied simply, motioning to the beast who was grazing in the shade. Quynh laughed heartily, tossing a stick at him. He caught it and tossed it back, flashing her a grin. He hadn’t smiled this much in centuries. 

“No, you need better arrows. Yours are ancient, Nico. Really, for somebody who shoots so well I’d expect you to take better care of your weapons.” She tutted, though she didn’t really mean it. She got to word making some new arrows while Nicky gutted the bird and put it on a spit over the fire. It was big and would make for a very filling dinner for them both. 

“It’s a very good thing that I’ll be staying with you for a while, you know. I don’t know how you managed all these years on your own with these twigs.” She added tentatively, still playful but also watching his expression to see if he was open to the idea of them traveling together. Nicky met her gaze evenly and his face split into a grin. 

“I need you. Stay. Please.” His tone was sincere. Quynh’s expression softened and she passed him a completed arrow, her hand lingering on his for a moment. 

“Quynh and Nico. Terrors of the Steppe. We’ll be unstoppable.” She grinned.


	17. Unstoppable

Together, they were unstoppable. Nicolo and Quynh made an incredible team. Nicky taught Quynh how to fight with a sword, she trained him on how to get better at the bow and how to use knives. He taught her to build a fire in a minute flat and she taught him how to fight hand to hand in the style she’d learned in the east. Between their combined nine hundred and some years, the pair had seen much of the world they knew about. They trained together and took jobs together. It was only a few months before they both spoke each other’s native tongues fluently. 

Once they were on the same page, they were inseparable. They could be in complete understanding with one another with no more than a glance, a nod, a flick of the wrist. They were a duo to be feared and respected and found themselves in trouble more often than not. With Quynh by his side, Nicky found a new purpose. He grew stronger and more confident. He learned to trust himself. 

Another thing that Quynh brought out in Nicky was his storytelling. They would sit around the fires sharing stories from their homes, ones they’d picked up along the way, some they made up on the spot. It was always hard to tell some stories but Nicky quickly learned they were the most important to tell. The first night Nicky had a nightmare about the cellar, he woke up screaming. Nightmares that bad didn’t come as often anymore but for some reason, that night, it had been so bad he’d woken up and immediately had a panic attack. 

Quynh was nearby. She was at Nicky’s side in an instant. In the century they’d traveled together, they had seen each other through good and bad. They’d both had bad dreams or moments of panic and Quynh knew how to help Nicky through his. She kept her distance in case he lashed out, then she spoke to him in a kind voice. Despite how comfortable they were helping each other through hard times, Quynh was shaken. She’d never seen Nicky like this before.

“Nicolo, you’re safe.” She said, speaking his mother tongue in the hopes it would help his mind settle. She repeated tender words until he seemed more aware of where he was, until he looked over at her with big, tear-filled eyes, seeming hundreds of years younger in that moment. She carefully scooted closer to him and took his hands in hers, thumbs repeating a soothing pattern on his wrists. “I’ve got you.” She whispered, letting him crumble into her. She caught him and settled back against a tree trunk, letting him cry into her shoulder. Once his sobbing quieted down a little bit, Quynh offered him some water. 

“Was it about your family?” She asked quietly. Nicky mutely shook his head. He was quiet for a little while longer, staring into the fire. Quynh didn’t move from his side and Nicky didn’t try to move away. They were too old to bother pretending they were fine. Besides, he needed time to gather the courage to talk about the monster and the cellar, he’d never told Quynh about it before. It was a measly twenty years, he reasoned. He could blink and that amount of time would pass.

When Nicky told Quynh what happened, she sat silently and listened to his every word. She held him, gave him time and space to tell the story that clearly left a profound and painful scar. When he told her what he’d done to the monster, Quynh simply nodded, kissed his temple, and said that it was less than he deserved and that Nicolo was kind to let him die that easily. He couldn’t help but chuckle, a mirthless and automatic sound that released some of the tension from his shoulders. 

“It’s stupid. Twenty years, that’s nothing. We spent twenty years chasing around a herd of sheep because you wanted to learn to knit.” He pointed out. 

“And now we both have scarves, it was a success overall. Plus, you like knitting.” Quynh pointed out. “But the time means nothing, Nico. Not to us. A year can feel like centuries. When I was in that desert, it felt like an eternity had passed. It’s what happens that determines how it feels. And what happened to you would destroy anybody. You, you really are unstoppable. And being scared or upset about something that happened just means you’re still human.” She pointed out. Nicolo was eternally grateful for her. 

\----------------------

That night opened an unknown barrier between them. Nicolo ceased to see Quynh as a friend and started seeing her as family. He realized the immensity of the bond they shared and he stopped holding back. He told her whatever story she wanted to hear. He trusted her without question and followed her to the ends of the earth. She trusted him equally. They shared everything and if one of them chose not to do something, they’d turn around together and go elsewhere. They began to take jobs, traveling the world as they followed the next mission, the next way they could use their gift to spread some good while earning themselves some coin along the way. 

“Wait, but they just died?” Quynh asked. They were currently riding through the Siberian wilderness on a job. Nicky had told her the full story about Isa and Kiran. He didn’t often tell stories he’d told so often to his children. He didn’t sing to anybody either. But Quynh was family now and she had asked him for his favourite story. He wouldn’t sing, but he could share the story with her. “That’s it, that’s the end. They wasted their lives walking towards each other and when they found each other they died? All for some stupid flowers?” She laughed, matched by Nicky’s chuckling. 

“It’s not a real story, just a folktale about a hill my ancestors used to live near before they went to the caves.” He replied with a laugh, tossing a berry at her as they rode. “Besides, it’s not supposed to be taken literally. It has a message about destiny and listening to the gods.” He added. “I think it’s nice.” 

“Do you think it’s true? That there’s love like that out there, that people see each other and know they’re supposed to spend the rest of eternity together? What if Kiran is actually a jerk? What if Isa’s mean? What if they always forget to put out the fire properly and drive the other person crazy with stupid stories?” She asked, tossing a berry back at him, referencing a common argument the pair had. 

“Oh!” Nicky grinned, shaking his head. “Then in that case I suppose they’re just stuck together and have to make the best of it, dear Quynh. Not that I’d know anything about annoying eternal life partners.”   
“No, of course you wouldn’t. I, on the other hand, am an expert.” The archer retorted, tossing a berry squarely between Nicky’s eyes, leaving a blue spot on his forehead. He laughed and wiped the juice away, popping one of the berries in his mouth. 

“I don’t know if I believe in that kind of love.” Nicky admitted simply. “I’d like to. And there are parallels between our lives and theirs, you know. Always traveling. Drawn to each other. But it seems more like a coincidence than anything else. And theirs is a different love than ours. I don’t think I’ve ever experienced a love like theirs. Even Marielle, I loved her, but not like that. I never felt whole with her. As much as she gave me, as much as I tried to give her, I could never fully give myself. Destiny though, destiny I believe in.” 

As Nicky spoke, both immortals noticed movement in the bushes. They kept the conversation going as they tried to pick out what the movement was. 

“I’m not sure if I believe in it either, but it’s nice. I think it’s more important to enjoy the journey. Imagine what beautiful things Isa and Kiran could experience if they’d stayed anywhere along the way.” Quynh replied, nodding subtly towards the tree ahead of them. 

In a single movement, both immortals drew their weapons and charged. They had been surrounded by a gang of thugs, no doubt hired to take them out. They were in dangerous territory and hadn’t been trying to stay hidden so the ambush wasn’t unexpected. 

“When I was a kid I used to think about that meadow a lot, my mother used to tell me the story and I’d always be angry that Kiran left the perfect place just to die on a beach.” Nicky laughed, swinging his sword and slicing through two attackers easily. An arrow hit his shoulder. He pulled it out and shot it right back at the offending archer, knocking him from the tree with a perfectly placed arrow. Nicky’s aim was impeccable. 

“I like the idea that we have a path, though.” Quynh pointed out. She paused her thought to swing under her horse, avoiding a blade and taking out a masked attacker. She rose back onto her horse, never stopping her movement. “It’d be nice to know there’s a purpose.” She commented, shrugging and flashing Nicky a grin. He pulled his sword from a man’s stomach and just like that, their attackers were dealt with. 

“Shoot, I dropped my berries.” Quynh sighed, noticing the empty pocket on her saddlebag. Nicky nodded, sighing as he saw the carnage behind them. He had gotten used to taking lives but it never stopped affecting him. They’d had no choice, of course. He’d learned early on that simply knocking somebody unconscious or breaking a knee or otherwise taking somebody out of combat wouldn’t do much to stop them, and even if it did, they’d be leaving somebody behind who knew what they were. After the cellar, Nicolo promised to himself never to let that secret out. 

“Seems like we’re close.” Nicky commented, turning his back and riding along the path with Quynh. She nodded and he passed her the berries he had leftover as they rode off.


	18. A New One

The job was relatively fast after that. They made it to the bandit’s camp and found their target, a box of religious items that belonged to a church a few towns over along with a few barrels of preserved food, enough to last a few families a winter. The bandits had made off with them and left the small town to scramble to replace their goods before the harsh winter hit in just a few weeks’ time, so Nicky and Quynh offered to track them down. It was relatively easy. Nicky was grateful they were able to sneak into the bandit camp at night mostly unnoticed. They only had to kill two people and weren’t seen by anybody else, then made off into the night. 

The townspeople were grateful when their items were returned to them and offered them a place to stay during the night. The pair gratefully accepted. Nicky was freezing, he’d fallen off his horse into an icy stream on the way back. The clothing had frozen to his skin and he was shaking. 

Once they arrived in the small empty house they’d been allowed to use for the night, Quynh helped Nicky strip the freezing clothing off. She started a fire in record time and sat behind him, hugging him as he warmed up on the ground in front of the blazing flames. Exhausted, they fell asleep in front of the fire. 

Flashes of a battle split through the night. Shouting surrounded them and chaos ensued. A man stood in front of a small group of warriors, each one more terrifying than the last. He was the clear leader. A village burned behind him and his line of warriors was the final line between a veritable army in front of him and the fleeing villagers. They held their own but it was clearly a losing battle. Through the leader’s eyes, Nicky and Quynh watched as the invading force attacked. The man fought valiantly. Though his arms ached and chest heaved with exhaustion, this was his final stand and he fought with everything he had. He tore through the invaders, out-matching each single opponent he faced. But where one fell, two took their place. It was a losing battle but the point was never to win, it was to last as long as possible. 

When he was finally overwhelmed, Nicky and Quynh watched as the warrior turned around and looked at his village. It was smoldering now, the fire was gone, the villagers and cattle were nowhere to be seen. He turned back around and saw his fellow warriors on the ground. The last one standing, the warrior turned to the horde and raised his club, facing off with hundreds of warriors at once. When the final blow came, he fell to the ground with a sense of pride, well deserved. 

Nicky felt his skull cave in and feet began to trample him before he gasped awake, lunging forward to grab his sword. Quynh gasped and shot up at the same time, hands already on her bow and arrow. They looked around the quiet cabin fearfully, then sat, panting as they realized what had happened. 

“There’s a new one.” Quynh panted, an excited grin spreading across her features. Nicky nodded, running a hand through his hair as he looked at her. 

“There’s a new one.” He agreed. Nicky didn’t know what to think about that. He stared at the fire, wondering who the new immortal was. He wondered what the poor man would think when he woke. He was likely still lying on the battlefield, his bones being beaten in by the invading army. He lived in a place Nicky had never visited and he looked like he was from a sunny place, far to the south. 

“We should start traveling, if we’re both already up.” Quynh pointed out. She stood up and pulled on her clothing. Nicky nodded and did the same, a faraway look in his eyes. He felt Quynh’s arms around him from behind and he straightened up, turning to face her and wrapping his arms around her as well. He sighed and kissed the top of her head. She hummed and squeezed him gently. “I know.” The archer murmured. 

“He has a long path ahead of him.” Nicky murmured. The man’s death reminded him of his own. On one hand, at least the man hadn’t been buried. He’d be able to stand up and walk away from the carnage. But then, he’d wake up in a pile of bodies, he’d see his fellow warriors fallen and rotting, and he’d be able to do nothing about it but try to live with the guilt that he had survived where they had fallen. 

“Hopefully it’ll take us less time to find him than it did to find each other. Two hundred years alone is a long time dreaming about you.” Quynh teased to lighten the mood as they packed. Nicky couldn’t help but laugh, his chest already feeling lighter. Together, they got on their horses and headed south. 

They kept dreaming. They watched as the man started walking, as he left the ashes of his village behind and searched for the people who had fled. They never discovered if he’d found them or not, but after a few months, he was still on his own. He seemed to be on his own journey. The land he traveled was beautiful but completely unknown. When Nicky and Quynh were in the middle of winter, he was in the sweltering heat. The animals he hunted were brand new to both Nicky and Quynh. The people he encountered wore clothing and makeup that was vibrant and colourful, their languages were nothing like any language either immortal had ever heard. They had no idea where to start, so they just kept heading south. 

Eventually, they landed in a town along a trade route. There were merchants there with skin as dark as the man in their dreams’ so they figured that was a good place to start. As soon as they entered the city, Nicky recognized it. This was the place he’d been to so many years ago when looking for Quynh. He recognized the city walls and the way it looked out over the surrounding plateau. He couldn’t help but chuckle to himself as he made the realization that he had been drawn back to this city yet again. It was under new occupation now and had grown quite a bit, but it was still much the same. 

Nicky searched out a tea merchant first and bought a bag of tea while telling Quynh the story of Eren and Farah, the tea merchants who had led him to her. Quynh raised an eyebrow as he told her about the couple. 

“So you told a stranger who smiled at you your favourite story but it took you hundreds of years to finally open up to me?” She asked playfully, though she was legitimately curious about how Nicky had simply opened up like that. Nicky himself hesitated. 

“Honestly...I’m not sure.” He admitted, baffled by the realization. “I guess I just trusted her. She seemed nice and...I’m not sure.” He shrugged. “It must have been the tea. Good tea can make people act crazy.” He replied with a smirk, though he was left wondering why he’d trusted Farah so easily.


End file.
